Feeling Better?
by DrawMeASheep
Summary: COMPLETE. Tony and Ziva deal with their evolving relationship. No casefile, just fluff detailing the minutiae of Tiva. Sequel to All You Need.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Unless NCIS is willing to accept a large pile of my flip-flops as payment, I will not be owning it at any time in the near future.

Summary: Tony and Ziva attend to the details of their daily life with much Tiva aplomb. Among other things, Tony and Ziva are engaged, moving to a new apartment, buying a new car (after the truly tragic demise of Ziva's Mini in AYN) and actively avoiding making any wedding plans. Of course, most of these things are not just coming out of the blue, but are predicated on…

Spoilers: This story occurs immediately after the last in this growing-exponentially-beyond-my-control series, which begins with _Locked_ and ends with _All You Need_. Details available in that magical profile page that saves me from typing this all out in my summary/spoiler sections, though I totally do it anyway. Anyhow, once again the 'canon' is basically personal stuff I've made up in _Locked, Taking it for Granted, No Good Deed, Black and White,_ and _All You Need_. Of course, there may be spoilers for some random details that we learn throughout NCIS, but…yeah, I have no idea why this section is here anymore, because the continuity diverges at some point in early S4 into _Locked_ and never looks back. Alas. This picks up about a week or two after AYN left off. On to the Tiva fluff!

* * *

Tony experienced a moment of weightlessness as Ziva collided with him, knocking him to the ground as the sound of gunfire erupted from a whole new direction. Her momentum carried her off him and he craned his neck just in time to see her tumbling disappearance into an open cargo container. He scrambled after her, tugging the door closed behind him just in time to save them from a hail of pinging bullets.

Ziva lay on the floor, panting heavily. He sank down the wall of the container beside her, noting that it was empty and they would be easy targets for anyone shooting through the door. "I think we may be in trouble here."

"No, really?" she replied caustically, scowling at him from her supine position.

"Well, at the very least, we're going to be trapped in here until they stop shooting." When she didn't reply, he continued, "I'm sure Tibbs is on his way. We've just got to wait them out and hope they didn't bring too many extra clips."

She grunted, struggling to sit up. "Maybe we should just get out of here."

"Are you all right?"

"Fine." Her wet cough contradicted the assertion.

"No, you look pale and…" He squinted at her carefully in the dark compartment. He knew she'd come running to his assistance from the opposite side of the large lot, but that didn't explain her continued breathlessness. The 100-meter dash didn't frighten Ziva. A sudden loud clang and a shift prevented him from making any other observations. They were both thrown around the container as it picked up speed. "I think someone…ow!…hit us with the dump truck to…damn it!…push us down the hill!"

He was unable to speak again until the container made a horrible noise – a loud splash – as it hit the water at the bottom of the hill. From his new position at the slanted bottom of the metal box, Tony stood awkwardly in the water that was already halfway to his knees. It was now almost completely dark in the sinking prison cell. He swept his hands in front of him. "Ziva?"

"Hey!"

He withdrew his hands quickly. "Sorry, but it's pitch black in here."

"That's the worst excuse you've ever had for copping a…" Her words dissolved into a coughing fit.

Realizing that whatever had been wrong before their violent descent into the water was worse now, he felt his pockets, finding the only possible source of light – his cell phone. "I doubt I'll be able to get a signal, but…" he trailed off as the light shone on his partner. Blood glistened on her wet clothing. He reached toward her and he could just make out the small rips in her sweater where at least three bullets had entered her torso. "Ziva, you…you're…"

"I noticed." She looked even paler in the faint blue light emitted by his phone. "But at least you'll be able to carry me out of here, right?"

The meaning of her sprint across the open space and headlong collision into him abruptly made sense – she had taken rounds meant for him. He was torn between shock, gratitude and utter outrage. "Why did you do that? I'm not worth it!"

The ghost of a smile crossed her face. "You are…to me."

He collected her in his arms as the water in the container deepened, saying a silent prayer that Tibbs would find them in time to give him a chance to tell her the truth about his feelings.

* * *

"Oh, that is not right," Tony muttered, allowing the unfinished manuscript to fall into his lap with a soft slapping of pages. Dropping his pen, he randomly grasped the lump of covers beside him in the bed and shook. "Hey."

"Huh?"

"Wake up."

"Unghh…"

He leaned over and whispered, "McGee just killed you off!"

Ziva rolled over, rubbing her eyes. "McGee's not fast enough to kill me. And I feel fine, all things considered." She rubbed her stomach where she'd had her stitches removed the previous day.

Tony took advantage of her sleepiness to steal a few kisses. "You should consider some mouthwash."

"Maybe when I get up in the damn morning," she replied, pushing him away. "I suggest you just grab a magazine from the hidden compartment in your third bureau drawer and head for the bathroom, because I just changed the sheets yesterday."

"You say that like you think I'd never wake you just to hear your melodious voice." Before she could roll over and go back to sleep, he called her attention back to his reason for waking her. "McGee hasn't _really_ killed you. Not yet. But I'm sure you won't be pleased to find out that Moussad Officer Lisa is bleeding to death in Agent Tommy's arms as they slowly sink to the bottom of the Chesapeake Bay, trapped in a flooding shipping container." He prodded the manuscript with his pen as he recited each detail.

"We were never trapped in a _sinking_ shipping container." She reached for her own bedside lamp, clicking the switch and squinting in the doubled light. "So she's not actually dead yet?"

Her blasé attitude told him she had yet to recognize the magnitude of the situation. "Well, no, but unless Tibbs finds us soon…"

"Them, Tony. Not us. Them." She yawned, cracking her neck with a quick movement to the side that made him flinch. "Wait a minute…don't tell me you've been up all night reading McGee's new novel."

"Uh, well…" He glanced at the clock as his eyes flitted around the room, looking for excuses. "Okay, it's only three, so I haven't been up all night, and I wasn't reading the whole thing, just the parts I don't actually remember happening. This thing is packed with exposition that would be completely classified but for the subtle change that it's Moussad Officer Lisa who, sometime prior to this case, had an affair with Ukrainian arms dealer Viktor Tushkov, much to the dismay of her devoted beau, Agent Tommy. He actually uses the words 'devoted beau,' if you can believe that. And it's not _exactly_ the same because apparently she was just dating Viktor and didn't realize he was an arms dealer because they met on some beach on the French Riviera – some topless beach that's described in surprisingly lifelike detail. Officer Lisa even has a mole right. …" he reached under the covers, his hand slipping just inside her black camisole as he pressed his index finger to a small spot between her breasts that he could find without looking, "…there."

"You can see that when I lean over if I'm wearing a shirt with a loose enough neck." She stretched her arms over her head and yawned again, looking extremely unimpressed. "Where does it pick up?"

He licked his lips. "What do you mean?"

"The novel versus our lives…where does it start?"

"Oh, with you, I mean Lisa, disappearing one morning with no explanation. So…right before you left one morning, leaving me with a note and a necklace."

She touched her omnipresent Star of David, just visible above her top – her lacy black top that revealed some bare skin on her stomach between the hem and a matching pair of panties. Tony missed whatever she said, distracted by his sudden hunger for her. She'd been out of the hospital for only a week, so he knew it was far too soon to suggest sex, but still…it was really only her leg that still seemed to be bothering her, and they could find a way around that. Based on the dates her doctor had given her, they could get back to physical matters the day after he had his cast removed. In three weeks. Seventeen days, really. Seventeen days wasn't that long.

He gulped as she ran her hands through her sleep-tousled hair. Like hell three weeks wasn't forever. Watching her change into her pajamas was enough to get him hot these days. Of course, with pajamas like the ones he knew she was wearing now, mainly as a result of his hiding of all her more modest nightclothes… A moment later, he became aware that she was trying to take the manuscript from his lap. He clutched it tightly. "You don't want to read this."

"Give me the manuscript," she stated in a tone that left no room for contradiction. He handed it to her grudgingly and her eyes scanned rapidly through the first page. "Don't tell me you made notes like this through the whole thing."

He reflexively clicked his pen. "I may have added a few little nuggets here and there…"

Her eyebrow went up. "Like these lines you added about phone sex?"

"It's, uh, true to life."

He said nothing further as she flipped through the pages, rolling her eyes and snorting with periodic disgust. "You're concerned that McGee has written another novel based on us and you think adding _more_ personal details is the proper course of action?"

"Well, I…"

"You even crossed out the characters' names and replaced them with ours!"

"Not all the characters!" he protested. "Just Lisa and Tommy."

"Yes, very reassuring."

"Well, at least you can be sure I'm never answering any question he asks me that isn't case related from now on. Like, he asked me about the flower shop where I got that bouquet when you were in the hospital the first time?"

She smiled. "The big one you didn't bring yourself?"

"Yeah." He wasn't sure whether to feel uncomfortable under her gaze. "Uh, yeah. Everything I told him about that's in here, including the nice lady who arranged it. I thought he was just impressed with the bouquet and wanted to know where to pick one up! Oh, and the knife your dad sent me when you came home from Israel? That's in here too, including the note that came with it."

"How did he know what my father wrote you?"

"The note was still in box with the knife. And the…"

He stopped talking as the light on the opposite side of the bed clicked off just as the manuscript landed with a thud on the floor. "Go to sleep, Tony. We've got a busy day tomorrow."

He turned off his own lamp with a sigh. After a few minutes staring at the shadow patterns on the ceiling, he scooted across the bed and slipped his arm around Ziva. She didn't push him away, instead saying, "McGee writes what he knows, not visions of the future."

"Huh?"

"You woke me up because you read about Lisa getting shot and you got scared."

"Did not." Tony still held her tighter, inclining his face so his lips rested on her bare shoulder. "I, uh, just thought you'd want to hear about what was happening, y'know, in the McNovel."

"I love you, too," she whispered, so softly that he could barely hear her. Raising her voice, she continued, "You really need to get back on your side of the bed if you don't want any serious injuries in the next few hours."

"I know, stealth sleep ninja-ing. Maybe they've got a pill for that. If you don't mind dreaming about Lincoln and talking beavers, of course."

"Whatever." She yawned. "Goodnight, Tony."

"'Night," he murmured, rolling away and taking a good portion of the sheet with him; she'd have it all back by morning anyway.


	2. Chapter 2

Ziva opened her eyes and sighed. The quality of the light in the bedroom told her it was already past seven, at the very least. She was getting far too accustomed to waking up late. It _was_ a Saturday, but still; she could be out running.

As she shifted under the covers, she was reminded just how long it would be before she was going to be able to get back to her customary workouts. She made a series of small movements to see how her injured quadriceps felt this morning and found there was no appreciable difference from the previous night. "The bastard just had to twist the knife, didn't he?" she muttered to herself, concentrating on not wincing as she propped her body into a sitting position. The healing scar on her stomach throbbed momentarily, but it was hardly noticeable compared to the pain in her leg. It didn't take much effort to hide the pain; if she could do it while walking with minimal aid from a cane, she could do it sitting in bed.

The snores coming from her right abruptly ceased. "Mmm bah…in the hot tub…ah zuuuh…forgot my suit…"

She reached over and twirled a lock of Tony's short hair around her finger. He immediately stopped murmuring in his sleep and went back to snoring. She softly asked, "You awake?"

He gave a protracted snore and uttered a series of nonsense syllables before clearly saying, "Mmm…waffles."

"Big faker." She leaned toward him, expecting him to move at any moment. She held her breath as she swung her injured leg over as she rolled. The fact that she'd been in more pain was no comfort for the sharp pangs that resulted from the simple movement. The shift from dull ache to acute pain and back again had been worth it, however; she was now pressed along his side, enjoying the simple contact. He had yet to respond.

In a way she was glad he hadn't woken. Every time she got too physical, she felt like she was unfairly teasing him. She had no qualms about gratifying him but though he willingly accepted any time she offered, she could also tell that it wasn't enough. He wanted the one thing she couldn't give him at the moment. It was the very thing that frustrated her most; she wanted sex too. She wanted it bad. She couldn't think of any point in her life when she'd been more desperate for an intense night of sweaty, loud, sheet-tearing, bruise-and-welt-leaving sex. Unfortunately, no matter what her desire was dictating, her body could not comply. It knew what her libido chose to ignore – one wrong movement, one ounce of pressure in the wrong place and she would let out a scream for all the wrong reasons.

She nuzzled Tony's shoulder, secretly enjoying his scent. It wasn't anything particularly compelling, just him. If he were awake, she'd probably be telling him he needed a shower; that was her usual excuse when he caught her smelling him. She wasn't about to admit she liked the way he smelled in general. It would just lead to some awkward offers to sniff his armpits after a workout or misunderstandings that her enjoyment extended to any aromas he might generate. Ziva laughed softly, remembering that she was going to have to gradually ease him into eating more vegetables.

He sighed, attempting to move the arm that was now trapped under her body. Rather than trying to wake him, she waited until he settled back into a deep sleep again before carefully moving away from him. Using the cane leaning against her nightstand, she hooked a pair of loose jogging pants on the floor and pulled them toward her.

When she stood, she nearly tripped over the manuscript she'd confiscated from Tony the previous night. She leaned over with some effort and picked it up, placing it on her nightstand. As she attended to her morning rituals over the sink, she though of various excuses she could use to avoid giving it back to McGee. _We got a dog, and the dog ate it, so we gave the dog away. We sold it on eBay. We loved it so much we refuse to give it back. _She stopped herself, spitting toothpaste into the sink, as she realized all the excused involved 'we.' Maybe the truth would work best – _Tony filled it with notes about our personal life that I don't want being shared with the world. I shredded it. Go ahead and yell at me, McGee._ She paused again. She'd have to make sure that he had more copies before taking that step.

She pushed the book out of her mind and, on her way out of the bathroom, stopped at Tony's dresser to grab one of his long-sleeved college t-shirts. Leaning her hip against the dresser, she pulled it on over her camisole and rolled up the sleeves before hobbling out of the bedroom. She made her way down the short hall, wanting the painkillers she'd taken a few minutes previously to kick in. The pills were all well and good, but there were times she missed the direct relief of the IV.

In the kitchen, she removed eggs, milk and butter from the refrigerator and went to work. Her attention to the mixing bowls on the countertop allowed her to focus on something other than her leg. She could barely feel it by the time she poured the batter into the preheated waffle iron.

Tony suddenly appeared around the corner. "Hey. What are you doing up?" He blinked and ran his hand through his untidy hair. "And how did you know I was dreaming about waffles?"

"Woman's intuition," she replied with a smirk. His look of confusion set aside her suspicions that he had merely been feigning sleep. She took a few hitching steps across the room to meet him. "What were you dreaming about besides waffles?"

Ignoring the question, he gave her a brief kiss. "Go sit down. I can manage the waffles."

"Tony…"

"Please? You already did the hard work. I just have to wait for the timer to beep and slap them on a plate."

She both appreciated and objected to his concern. "I can manage."

"I know. I just want to…you sit down and I'll take care of this stuff."

She took a few containers of sliced fruit from the refrigerator. "So, you had a sex dream again?"

"Uh…what?" His fingers trembled slightly as he accepted the strawberries from her. "I wasn't groping you in my sleep again, was I?"

"No, but you're helping me with breakfast."

"Yes, because I want you to sit down and get your weight off your leg."

"My doctor said I should use it. That's why I have a cane and not a wheelchair." She leaned against the counter, watching him as he used a fork to transfer the two thick waffles to plates. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"You feel so guilty that you dreamed about it that you're offering to help me cook."

"Why should I feel guilty?" He ignored her reach, carrying both plates in one hand to the coffee table in front of the couch. "It's not like you don't know how much I like sex."

She sat on the sofa, formulating a response. She waited until he'd made enough trips to bring the fruit, toppings and two cups of coffee to the living room and sunk onto the couch beside her. "I was trying to say I don't want you to feel guilty. It's not your fault we can't. It's mine."

"Ziva…"

"Let's just eat before it gets cold."

"Fair enough." He covered the fruit on his waffle with generous portions of syrup and whipped cream. He made a sound of contentment as he took his first bite. "Mmm. Oh, you are good."

"I know it's been a while, but please don't start equating food and sex."

"I'm gonna have to ask you not to eavesdrop on my private conversations with my waffle."

They looked at each other in silence for a moment. She was the first to crack. After a good thirty seconds of air-clearing laughter, the tension had evaporated and they returned to their usual level of comfort with each other. She didn't even object when he turned on the TV to check the scores on SportsCenter.

When an ad came on, he asked, "Just curious, but how are we affording this new car of yours?"

She took advantage of her full mouth to hide her surprise. She'd been so occupied by other concerns that she'd forgotten about their plans for the day. After carefully chewing and swallowing, she said, "Moussad wrecked my old car, so they're paying for my new one."

"Uh-huh, and that's all well and good, but I can't see how the cost of your Mini equates with a brand new car of higher value. I mean, it was two years old and battle scarred." He took a sip of coffee. "How many accidents were you in with that thing?"

She tapped her fork against her plate, thinking. "Does it still count as an accident if no police report was filed?"

"Right. So many accidents you can remember them all."

"I didn't say that."

"I'm just saying that it was probably pretty, uh, depreciated. And you're looking at cars that cost more than it did new. I just want to know how that works before we start signing anything."

"Do you want the long answer about how Moussad is funding several ops with money I brought in from the Molot?"

His fork, heavy with a loaded bit of waffle, hung just in front of his mouth. "They get to do that?"

"Why wouldn't they?"

"Uhh…" He opened his mouth wide to insert the oversize bite, but spoke around it, "Fo if at evil?"

"Is it legal?" she asked, guessing at the closest translation of his words.

He nodded, chewing in an exaggerated way.

"What, you think the US Government doesn't take advantage of funds seized from criminals? They sell cars and boats and houses seized in drug raids at auction. There's no reason to just put all that stuff in a warehouse."

"So…any chance we could just have that Lamborghini you had in Paris? That blue one?"

"No. Anyway, I bled all over the seat in that one when I changed my bandage." She rubbed the scar on her left arm where a bullet had grazed her just before she and Dmitri had escaped to Siberia during her undercover mission. "Any car that Dmitri bought would have too many bad associations. Wouldn't you rather have something brand new?"

"When you put it that way…a new Lamborghini?"

"I promised my father I'd spend less than $40,000. I've already narrowed it down to two."

"I know." He finished his waffle and placed the plate on the table, looking longingly at her half-finished breakfast. She handed it over without a word and he eagerly added syrup and whipped cream. Pushing his advantage, he said, "I still think we should look at the new Mustangs."

She rolled her eyes. "We've been over this. I'm looking at the 350Z and the Eclipse. That's it."

"But the Mustang is _nice_! Fast, handles well, cheaper than both of those, even though that kind of doesn't matter because it's not our money…" She ignored the rest of his repetitive speech, reflecting on the fact that everything but his car had become 'ours' lately. She smiled, which seemed to indicate to him that he was swaying her. He ended with a flourish, saying, "And it has that big back seat!"

"What difference does it make?" she asked, slightly confused. "We're going to rent a truck when we move, so I can imagine we'll need much more space…"

"Not the main function of a back seat," he interrupted.

She chose not to respond to the innuendo, as it could go no further that words and minor contact. "The Mustang is too big. I want something small, fast and sneaky. Like me."

"Yeah, well you'll have to find something with a bigger back end in that case." His face fell as she glared at him. He seemed to panic. "Whu…I…uh…yeah, oh…the…what I meant…uh…yuh…I think your ass is perfect."

"Of _course_ you do." As punishment for the comment, she squirted a line of whipped cream down the length of her index finger and slowly licked it off. On occasion, he deserved to be teased.


	3. Chapter 3

"…the fact that you're not the only dealership in the area! So don't think you can treat me like some helpless spoiled brat who can't afford…"

Tony grinned as he dropped into the passenger seat of his Mustang, closing the door and missing the tail end of Ziva's tirade. He looked at the list of addresses she'd printed out the previous night and decided the drive to the next dealership would take about ten minutes. More importantly, they would have to pass several restaurants on the way, giving him the opportunity to suggest she take a time out to cool down before interacting with another salesman. If said break resulted in stopping for lunch, well, that was a sacrifice he was willing to make.

Another shouting voice, this one carrying a tone of mollification, became clearly audible as Ziva yanked open the driver's side door. Tony was careful to stop smiling, lest she think he was mocking her anger. As she joined him in the car, a harried managerial-type rushed up to the door, nearly getting his fingers caught as she slammed it. Tony made out a few phrases that seemed to indicate the man's willingness to fire the offending salesman and make them an offer they couldn't refuse, but Ziva peeled out of the lot before he could conclude his speech.

Tony grimaced slightly as she changed gears by pushing in the clutch with her cane, a move she used on occasion since her leg had been injured. She was surprisingly adept at manipulating the cane with one hand and gearshift with the other while maintaining control of the steering wheel with her left knee. He didn't see exactly how that action of the leg was less painful than actually putting her foot on the clutch, but he hadn't gotten a straight answer the only time he'd asked, just an offer to switch seats. He was itching to get his cast off in more ways than one.

He chanced a sideways glance at Ziva and tried a joke. "So…maybe the next place will have the color you want?"

"I am in no mood," she replied, swerving dangerously as she accelerated and changed gears again. "Where's the next stop?"

"Uh, there's a Nissan place in the other direction, if you want to…" His hand shot forward so he could brace himself against the dashboard as she made an unexpected u-turn, hooking around the median just before the light changed. "Yeah, do that."

"Hmph." She sped up again.

He looked out the window as they streaked past the Mitsubishi dealership going in the opposite direction. The shell-shocked salesman remained rooted to his spot in front of the main door of the building, while the manager shouted at him for the entire world to see. Tony snickered. "Will it make you feel better if I told you the little sales-monkey is still getting chewed out in the parking lot?"

"Still? We pulled out less than thirty seconds ago. I'm surprised that idiotic manager made it back across the parking lot already."

He slumped slightly in his seat as he realized she was not going to get over this quickly. No reason to scrap plan B. "Well, do you want to stop and get something to eat? It'll give you a chance to let off some steam before we meet the next greasy car salesman."

"Yeah. Fine. Whatever."

He decided to go for the contrite approach to try to alter her mood. "Am I in trouble?"

"Why would you be?" She finally spared him a somewhat alarmed look, thought it was tinged with more annoyance than he'd hoped.

"I just thought you might be upset with me for not leaping to your defense with that guy."

"I'm perfectly capable of defending myself, physically _or_ verbally."

"I know. Believe me, I know. I didn't want you to think I was letting you twist in the wind when I didn't say anything."

He saw the corner of her mouth twitch up. "I don't really recall giving you a chance to get a word in."

"Not once you really got going, but I could have jumped in before then."

"And when would that have been? After that jerk tried to show me the compact instead of the Eclipse I told him I wanted to see? Or after he tried to convince me an automatic and a standard are the same thing? Oh, or after he decided that I just didn't understand simple English and he should be addressing the man anyway, because women don't get to make the decisions about cars?"

"Uh, well, that was the point I would have stepped in, but you started to get quiet-angry, and I know better than to let you bottle everything up." He forced himself not to smile and give himself away so close to his goal. If she admitted she didn't have any reason to be angry with him, there was the slightest chance she'd stop being angry. "But I think you taught him a lesson about messing with people who took the Moussad training on 'How to buy a car.'"

He knew he was safe as she finally grinned. "More like 'How to deal with ignorant, sexist assholes.' So where should we stop for lunch?"

"How about the pseudo-50's diner up at the next light?"

She made a face, but consented. "Just promise me you won't give me a detailed history of American pop music when you start flipping through that stupid little thing on the table."

"The jukebox? Aw, c'mon. Hey, we should watch American Graffiti tonight. Poor Ron Howard – I think he turned to directing to escape all the fifties kid roles."

"Uh-huh." She didn't sound very excited about the prospect of movie time. The car coasted to a stop in a spot close to the door of the restaurant.

He waited by the front bumper for her to hobble over, taking her by surprise with an arm around the waist and a kiss. She pushed him away, taking a quick survey of the parking lot, before increasing her pace toward the door. He had no trouble catching her. "What, are you afraid someone will see us?"

"No, I just…I'm not making out with you in a parking lot while teenagers point and laugh at us."

"There aren't any…" He glanced in the direction of her quick head twitch as they entered the diner and saw a group of adolescents hiding behind their menus as they pretended not to stare. "Oh."

A perky hostess seated them at a booth on the opposite side of the diner. Aside from the party of kids and some lethargic staff seated at the counter, the place was empty. Tony thumbed through the menu, quickly finding the page he wanted. "Hmm…chili cheese dog or bacon cheeseburger?"

"Do you deliberately order non-kosher foods because you have some secret fear that I'm going to steal from your plate?" Ziva countered, folding her menu and pushing it to the edge of the table. She frowned as she sipped her water. "Chlorine. Why must every restaurant serve iced pool water?"

He tapped his finger back and forth between his two chosen meals, opting to ignore her first question. The chilidog came with fries, but the cheeseburger came with onion rings and coleslaw. The choice would be a lot easier if he knew he could count on sneaking fries off Ziva's plate. "Well, uh, what are you getting?"

"Hot fudge sundae."

"I meant for lunch."

"So did I. I don't feel like soup."

He closed his menu before looking at her carefully. She was still supposed to be limiting her intake of solid food, but she'd eaten fairly well for breakfast. "You ate that waffle this morning."

"I know. My stomach hurts a little now, though, so I think something even softer is in order."

"You sure you're okay?"

"Other than this weird new food-related guilt? Fine."

"Food guilt?" He was distracted from his concern by the phrase more likely to be on the cover of Cosmopolitan, which he read _only_ while in line at the supermarket, than coming from Ziva. "What are you talking about?"

"I can't run. My body is used to burning most of the calories it takes in and doesn't know what to do with the crap we've been eating lately. I have no idea how you haven't put on any weight since you broke your arm and stopped working out. It's nuts."

He shrugged, deciding on the cheeseburger as he saw the waitress approaching. "You don't look any fatter." He didn't even give her time to react, launching into an explanation immediately, "Or fat at all. I mean, you still look the same as you always have, which is really, really good. Hot. And, uh, thinner, even."

Her eyebrows remained contracted for a moment. "I'll give you credit for the save this time."

He let out a deep breath as the waitress asked, "What can I get for you two?" They placed their order with the poodle-skirted woman, who returned a moment later with their drinks.

Tony held his tongue until she'd disappeared again. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize. I'm the one ordering ice cream as a meal. And I can always take comfort in the fact that I can work it all off once my leg is better. Hey, we could start running together."

"Uh…" He took a long sip from his soda to buy time. He didn't have a problem with running, but he wasn't sure he wanted to commit to 5AM every morning. "We _could_…"

"It's all right to say no."

"Right. Well, it's not that I don't think I could keep up with you, I just…well, you know I can barely get out of bed to get to work on time, so I don't know why you think I'll want to get up even earlier…"

"I said it's okay," she interrupted with a laugh. "Truthfully, I kind of like the time to myself. What?"

He shook his head, grinning. "Nothing. I was just thinking about that car salesman and how much I like it when you yell at other people."

"I never yell at you."

"Yes you do!" he protested, preparing a list of examples in his mind: drinking the milk from the carton, leaving clothes on the floor, kissing her in the elevator at work…

"Not like that," she said calmly. "You have a good instinct for self-preservation most of the time and don't push me when I'm in a bad mood. Oh, and you're not condescending pig, either."

"Sweet of you to say."

"Tony…"

He wasn't sure if it was something in her tone of voice or her eyes when she said his name, but he suddenly felt like suggesting a brief stop – an hour or two – at the Comfort Inn across the road. He blinked hard and the feeling was gone. She'd never have sex with him again if he tried to put that idea forward. He watched her take a bite of the sundae that the waitress had just placed in front of her and squirted ketchup onto the table, missing his cheeseburger by a considerable distance.

"Tony?"

There was nothing exciting in the way she said his name this time. He hurriedly wiped up the ketchup with a napkin and attended to his cheeseburger. "Bottle slipped. How's your sundae?"

"Good." She licked her lips after another bite to catch some errant whipped cream and chocolate sauce. He took an overly large bite of his burger and chewed deliberately as she said, "You know, I've got a good feeling about this next dealership. You like the 350Z, right?"

He nodded, grunting through his mouthful. Cars would be a welcome distraction from Ziva eating a hot fudge sundae. He took another bite, knowing it wouldn't curb his most pressing hunger.


	4. Chapter 4

Ziva carefully propped her leg on the coffee table as she sat on the couch and got comfortable, feeling accomplished. After the unpleasantness of the morning, she and Tony had met with success at the Nissan dealership they'd visited after lunch. She was the proud new owner of a black 350Z. The only red one on the lot had been an automatic, but the salesman had been fairly likable, so she'd settled. She'd actually been sold on it after the test drive – the combination of speed, handling and Tony's various terrified expressions had cemented the deal.

She flipped idly through the paperwork on the sofa beside her, waiting for Tony to return from the package store around the block where he'd walked and noting that the car wouldn't actually be hers until she received the transfer of funds from Moussad. She had already spoken to Officer Bashan, who had agreed to bring the check by on Sunday evening in exchange for a home cooked meal. She would be going to the dealership Monday morning to pick up the car before work.

She clucked her tongue as a sudden issue rose in her mind. Using her cane, she hooked her bag, sitting on the chair just past arm's length, and pulled it toward her. Her phone was at the very bottom and nearly out of battery power. She shrugged and selected the number she wanted; it wasn't like she wanted to have a long conversation. McGee answered on the second ring, "Hello?"

"Hey, McGee."

"Ziva, what's up? Did you get a chance to read my manuscript or is Tony not finished with it, because I was hoping you could go over it and tell me if the spy stuff sounds believable…"

She bit her tongue, taking a moment to figure out some delicate wording as he went on about the choices he'd made about different details in the book. She hadn't even remembered the manuscript sitting on her nightstand until he'd mentioned it. She eventually cut him off, "I'll be sure to look at all of that very carefully when I read it."

"Oh, good, because you're the person who would know what's realistic and what's…well you know. How far has Tony gotten?"

"He was up late last night. He reached the part where Lisa got shot."

McGee seemed to pick up on the edge in her voice. "She's gonna be fine. I wouldn't kill off Lisa." His voice became more excited as he asked, "But Tony really got that far? I mean, that's almost three-quarters of the way through!"

"Look, McGee, it's not that I don't want to discuss your novel, but my phone is almost out of power and I need to ask a favor."

"We have a case and you need a ride?"

"You're half-right. I do need a ride."

He sighed. "Can you give me about an hour? I'm in the middle of the penultimate chapter and I don't want to lose the vibe."

"Vibe?" She pushed the sarcasm out of her voice and continued before he could reply, "It's not for right now. I bought a new car today and I need a ride from home to the dealership on Monday morning to pick it up, since Tony can't drive yet. They open at 8:30, so if you want to come by around 8…or 7:30, if you'd like breakfast…"

He sounded alarmed as he asked, "Gibbs doesn't mind us coming in late?"

"Gibbs is off Monday."

"So?"

Under normal circumstances, she would be inclined to agree, but she had some insider information from Ducky. "He's having a root canal at 8. I don't think he'll be in any condition to mind."

"Oh. Okay. I'll see you at 7:30 on Monday, then? Will you be done with my manuscript by then?"

"I'm not sure. Don't you have another copy?"

"Of course. I just don't want it getting out."

She could almost see his top lip disappear into a pout over the phone line as she laughed. "I'll lock it in my safe when one of us isn't reading it. Have a good night, McGee."

"Yeah, 'Night, Ziva."

She snapped her phone shut and looked over her shoulder as the front door opened. Tony struggled to close it behind himself as he manipulated a large paper bag between his good arm and his sling. Ziva raised an eyebrow. "How drunk are you planning to get?"

"What? I figured we were ordering in tonight and everyone knows you can't eat pizza if you don't have beer. I also picked up a bottle of champagne so we can celebrate the new car. Good stuff, too."

Visions of $300 bottles of vintage Veuve Clicquot and Perrier-Jouet popped into her head. "How good?"

"Well, forty bucks worth of good." He reached into the bag he'd placed on the counter and pulled out a bottle of non-vintage Taittinger. "I know it's not up to your usual high standards, but…"

"It's fine," she interrupted, only slightly disappointed. On rare occasions, she missed living on an arms dealer's budget; all it took was a look from Tony to erase the nostalgia. "Put it in the refrigerator. We may need to open it with dinner tomorrow, though, unless we have wine."

"There's a couple bottles in the cupboard and why do we need it for tomorrow?"

"Michael is bringing the check for the car by and staying for dinner."

"Michael?" he asked, closing the refrigerator, where he'd just put the champagne and a six-pack of beer bottles.

"Officer Bashan," she clarified, tossing her cell phone at him. "Would you plug that in for me?"

He caught it clumsily in one hand. "Where's your little charger thingy?"

"On the counter by the phone."

"Ah. Hey do you think…" The landline telephone rang and he picked it up before completing his thought. "Hello? Hey, Abraham. How are you?" She reached for the phone and he remained across the room, winking. "I'm doing much better. I'll have the cast off in a few weeks. Yeah, we picked the car out today. They're holding it for us. No problem with the money, I hope? Oh, good, because I don't think I've got that kind of cash lying around. You want to talk to Ziva?" He pointed down the hall at the open doorway of the bathroom and nodded expressively. "Well, she's…"

"Tony!"

"Right here," he finished, handing her the phone with an infuriating grin.

She gave him a momentary evil eye before turning her attention to her father. "Shalom, Abba. It's late there."

"Not so late. Just after midnight. How are you feeling?"

Tony was staring longingly at the kitchen half an hour later when she hung up. She ignored his pleading look and said, "I used to talk to my father once a month for less than ten minutes, and we spoke mostly about the weather and Maccabi Elite Tel Aviv."

"Who?"

"Basketball team. Now he wants to know all about what's happening in my life."

"Yeah, almost like he's your dad or something. Look, I'm hungry. Can I order a pizza?"

"Huh? Sure," she replied distractedly, her mind focusing on the first thing he'd said.

"Are you gonna eat any? Because I'm gonna get pepperoni and sausage if you aren't."

"Get whatever you want."

He kissed her cheek and grabbed the phone from her hand, jogging into the kitchen to get the number and make the call. She knew he knew the number by heart and suspected that he had stepped away in order to request extra meat, with meat on top and a generous sprinkling of meat. She wasn't all that interested in the pizza anyway. He stuck his head in the refrigerator the moment he was off the phone. "Thirty minutes. Want a beer?"

She nodded and waited until he'd handed her a bottle and sat back down beside her to ask the question that had just occurred to her minutes before, "Why haven't I met your family?"

He choked on his drink. She patted his back forcefully until his sputtering stopped. He pointed at the television. "So…wanna watch a movie?"

"Answer my question."

"W-What?"

"Why haven't I met your family?"

"Who's to meet?" he answered dismissively. "I'm an only child, my mother is dead and my father's an asshole who gets married more often than Elizabeth Taylor and Larry King combined. You wouldn't like him."

She moved closer to him, ignoring the pain in her leg as it bent into an uncomfortable position. "Other than the multiple marriages, it sounds like my family situation."

"Hardly. Your parents were never divorced, your mother died of natural causes and your dad loves you."

"Which I didn't really find out until recently."

"Oh, no. No. Not happening."

"What?"

"You think that since you've fixed up your problems with daddy, I should fix mine now. I should have known something was up when you said you wanted a beer." He took the bottle from which she had yet to take a sip forcefully from her hand. "You aren't supposed to be drinking with your medication."

She didn't protest, squeezing his thigh with her now free hand. "Does he know about us? Have you even told your father you're engaged?"

"No, and before you try and guilt me into it, it's not because I'm ashamed of you. It's him I've got the problem with. I'll tell him when I'm ready."

"And when will that be?"

"You want me to call him? Fine." She watched as he snatched the phone off the table beside the couch, dialed a number from memory and pressed the receiver to his ear. The only sound in the apartment was a very soft buzzing. He muttered, "Voicemail," to her before raising his voice, "Hey, dad. It's Tony DiNozzo. Your son. I, uh, well, I'm engaged. Guess I'll talk to you later." He hung up and looked at her expectantly. "Happy?"

"No."

"Good. Me neither." He stood and adjusted the waist on his jeans. "I'll be out of the bathroom before the pizza man comes."

She watched him silently as he grabbed the _Post_ from the small table in the entryway and slammed the bathroom door behind himself. Standing carefully and limping to the kitchen, she took his cell phone from the pocket of the jacket he'd dropped on the counter when he'd come in. There was one missed call from two minutes previous. "So predictable." She scrolled down the list of names in the address book, finding the one she wanted and scribbling it on a piece of paper before sliding the phone back into the pocket. Folding the paper and tucking it in her own pocket, she muttered to herself, "You'd think he'd remember that I'm a spy."

She was sitting on the couch again, watching TV, when Tony exited the bathroom just in time to answer the door. A minute later, he placed a pizza box on the coffee table and sat beside her again. After a few bites, he said, "Sorry about all that. I just…y'know, I'll be surprised if he even calls back."

Ziva cocked her head and did her best to look confused. "Why wouldn't he?"

"Oh, just…just the way he is, I guess." He gave her the smile that said he knew something she didn't know. Or thought he did.

She fingered the hem of her pocket before saying, "Didn't you have some movie you wanted us to watch tonight?"


	5. Chapter 5

A/n: Apologies for the long wait for an update. I've had many things happening. This chapter contains some **M rated content **near the end, but nothing explicit.

* * *

Tony careened around the corner of the aisle, momentarily losing control of the shopping cart and knocking several boxes of cereal off a display, no longer thinking that this was going to be viewed as a cute prank as Ziva shouted his name from not too far away. It echoed off the high ceilings of the supermarket. He knew he'd really misjudged this one. 

He ceased his getaway and paused to catch his breath. The weeks of inactivity had apparently done more harm to his conditioning than he'd realized. As some kind of fitness test that made sense in his mind only until he tried it, he aimed a kick at one of the fallen cereal boxes, sending it flying into a shelf of immovable bags of flour with a dull rattle.

He smiled awkwardly at a mother halfway down the aisle who was giving him an offended look while shielding her two small children's eyes, probably in the hopes that they wouldn't take his example of adult conduct to heart. If the way Ziva had shouted his name from down the last aisle was any indication, they were about to get a first-hand lesson in the consequences of misbehavior. He stooped to begin cleaning up the displaced boxes of Froot Loops as Ziva limped up to him. From his squat on the floor, he tried to deflect some of her anger. "I was following my nose?"

He was already off-balance, so he fell onto his backside when she poked him hard with her cane. "Is there some reason you feel the need to make a scene in public? Is it so difficult for you to do what I ask?"

"Only when broccoli is involved," he lied.

"Of course. The vegetables made you run away. How inconsiderate of me to force you to come into contact with green things," she said, watching him struggle to stand for a moment before holding out her cane.

He was careful not to rely on the proffered aid too much as he stood, as inadvertently pulling Ziva down on top of him wasn't high on the list of things he wanted to happen at the moment. An unscheduled apology had the potential to turn into a confession that he'd actually been running from the question she'd asked as she'd moved to drop the broccoli into the cart – 'So when can we expect to hear from your father?' He'd taken off running with the cart, saying something derogatory about vegetables on the way.

In spite of Ziva's still stormy expression, he gave her his best dashing grin. He had a secret and she had no idea. "I was just kidding. Y'know, chasing me only encouraged me to run faster."

Her brow remained knitted in angry irritation, but she dropped her voice so he alone could hear her reply, "I have two sets of handcuffs with me, and don't think I won't use them both if I have to."

His eyes widened as he felt the smile drop from his lips, his imagination running a little wild with images of what she might do with her cuffs. "I'll be good," he said loudly, obediently squatting to finish picking up the cereal boxes while she stood over him. He had the feeling he'd gotten off lightly with just the hollow threat. In spite of some evidence to the contrary, he didn't worry that she'd ever actually do anything to hurt him, and certainly not to humiliate him out of sheer malice. They were getting to the somewhat scary point where she could just glare at him critically and say nothing, and he would be left to puzzle out why she was mad. Or upset. Or nauseous. He placed the final box back on the shelf and risked a glance at her, ascertaining that, while he'd atoned for his little caper, she wasn't letting him off the hook just yet.

The woman with the two children nodded her approval as she passed, saying to Ziva, "Husbands are like naughty little toddlers – they need a firm hand when they fail to behave."

He stuck his tongue out at the meddlesome woman behind her back and trailed Ziva back to the produce department, making sure he hung his head in shame and pushed the cart slowly. The last thing he needed right now was a fight; he knew his ruse of the previous night could only last so long and he preferred that she not already be angry with him when she discovered he had lied about calling his father.

Still, that was a concern for another day. They had plans with her father's good friend Officer Bashan for dinner, an event that had necessitated the shopping trip, and he wanted to be on good terms with her for that. No sense allowing Abraham to change his mind about his, Tony's, character. He decided he was finally forgiven for the shopping cart incident when they arrived at the packaged meats and she began inspecting packages of hamburger. "You're still making me meat sauce?"

"Why wouldn't I? You won't eat my pasta primavera and I'm not going to let you sit at the table with a plate of plain spaghetti staring at me with your puppy dog eyes."

He gave her the longing look he hoped she was describing. "So, no punishment?"

"No. But I do have something special planned." She winked at him over her shoulder. "For later. Oh, and I didn't mean to, eh, knock you on your ass back there. Sorry."

"No need to apologize." He slipped his arm around her waist and whispered into her ear, "Wanna go make out in the frozen foods section?"

She selected a package of hamburger and dropped it into a plastic bag. "Want me to shove my cane up your…"

"No." He reminded himself that he'd have to be good until the promised 'later.'

Several hours later, Tony sank onto the couch and undid the top button of his pants as Ziva showed Officer Bashan to the door. The man seemed to have a lot of stories that ended in people getting arrested or shot, but he also had a few about Ziva as a little girl. Tony grinned to himself, wondering how hard she'd hit him if he brought up the episode with the tomato and the light bulbs that Bashan had narrated, much to her chagrin. Probably pretty hard.

Tony yawned, feeling full and content. He'd really enjoyed the dinner she'd made, including the small amount of vegetables she'd transferred onto his plate without asking. And, until she'd placed it on the table, he hadn't even realized she'd also made dessert – some kind of French thing with a name he couldn't pronounce - but he didn't need to speak another language to enjoy something with that much chocolate in it.

He motioned for Ziva to sit with him when he saw her slide the chain across the door and turn. She sat beside him with an awkward movement as her leg bent. Her head dropped onto his shoulder once she was settled, and he nuzzled her hair. "Honestly, I like Michael, but I thought he was never going to leave."

"He's probably heading back to the office to deliver a full report to the Director – 'Subjects appear happy, though mention was made of an incident at the supermarket. Will obtain security footage and ascertain nature of relationship disturbance.'"

She slapped him lightly on the thigh. "My father didn't send him to spy on us. In case you've forgotten, he was here to deliver the check for my car."

"And he kind of invited himself to dinner, right?" Her hand was still on his thigh, and the look he was getting made him worry about it. "I'm just sayin'…"

"I know." She snuggled against his side, dropping her head again. "Thank you for loading the dishwasher."

"No problem. Only fair since you made dinner. Even with the veggies, that was pretty good."

"Hm."

He tried to catch a glimpse of her expression to help him interpret the non-committal noise, but her face was turned down, away from him. Not wanting to giver her a chance to misunderstand his comment as a general condemnation of her cooking, he fell back on his old standby, rambling. "Well, the veggies were good too. The real problem here is me. I just don't have to gourmet palate to really appreciate the flavors and culinary…"

"Tony." She finally looked up at him. "If you won't call your father, I will."

"I…uh…yesterday." He was stuck without anything else to say, as he saw that lying wasn't going to help him in the situation. He muttered under his breath, "Damn Moussad training."

She continued, unfazed, "I know you called your own cell phone and left that message yesterday. I'm not going to go behind your back with this, which, I should probably mention, was my first instinct, but, as this is a relationship with someone I love and respect and not a mission…" She took a deep breath and concluded, "If you haven't called him by Wednesday, I will."

"Well…" He searched for some out and came up with, "You, uh, can't."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm not gonna give you the number," he explained lamely, wondering how many seconds after he'd entered the bathroom she'd checked his phone.

"I already have it." He judged that it was probably less than ten. He checked another muttered curse against her spy training and made a grab for the piece of paper she produced from her pocket, but she brushed him off, handing it to him without a fuss and saying, "Take it if you want, but I've got it memorized."

"Ziva, I…"

"Don't make excuses. Don't explain. Just call by Wednesday."

He sighed heavily, knowing that he was never going to get out of this. "If that's how it's going to be, why wait? Give me the phone." She handed him the receiver and watched him carefully as he dialed. The voicemail connected on the third ring and he spoke deliberately after the beep, "Dad, it's Tony. I need to talk with you, so if you can give me a call, I'd really appreciate it." He pressed the disconnect button and dropped the phone onto the sofa beside him. Turning to Ziva, he asked somewhat resentfully, "Happy?"

She pecked his lips. "Thank you."

"I just hope we don't regret it."

"He deserves a chance."

Tony didn't answer and she fell silent. It was what he had expected; once she learned a secret, she would stop pushing if she saw it wasn't doing any good. He turned on the TV and found a baseball game. After a few innings of watching the Nationals being beaten with clubs, he was reminded of something he'd promised her not long ago. "Do you still want to catch an O's game?"

"O's?"

"Baltimore Orioles? Baseball? As long as the Red Sox or Yankees aren't in town, I could get us some really good tickets. Actually, I know a guy who could get us great seats for any game." He bobbed his eyebrows invitingly, but she looked at him blankly. "C'mon, I know we talked about this at some point."

She pursed her lips. "I think it was just before Dmitri kidnapped us."

"Oh." Tony suddenly recalled the plane ride that had been so memorable for its conclusion, which overshadowed the fun they'd had during the actual flight. He started when he realized that was the last time they'd had sex. Moving closer to her on the couch, he tightened his arm around her shoulders and kissed her temple. "I want you."

She withdrew her hand, which had been resting on his thigh almost the entire time they'd been seated on the sofa together. "I'm tired, Tony. Maybe in the morning?"

He laughed, but the only sound was a series of short bursts of air from his nostrils. "You always think I'm out for my own gratification?"

"Well, given the situation…did you think I meant sex when I told you I had something special planned? Because I was talking about the Reine de Saba."

"Just come to bed and lie down." When she didn't rise with him, he extended his hand. She contemplated him a moment longer and he added, "No strings, no reciprocation. You can roll over and go to sleep afterwards."

"I'm not you," she replied, finally accepting his assistance in standing. "What brought this on?"

"I've missed your screaming." He led her slowly down the hall, but she detoured into the bathroom. "What are you…?"

"I'm going to wash up first." She closed the door in his face.

"Okay." He stood outside the bathroom for a few moments, but decided it would be strange if she caught him waiting for her there, so he walked into the bedroom. Sitting on the bed, he kicked his shoes off. He studied his feet and took his socks off as well. By the time Ziva walked in, he was clad in only his boxers and cast. At her hesitation, he explained, "I was planning to go to sleep after we're done, too. Also, I felt silly being dressed. Oh, and also? I'm gonna be really happy when we can go back to sleeping naked."

She limped to the bed, cocking an eyebrow. "I haven't exactly been forcing you to wear pajamas."

"Yeah, but they're good for me right now. They remind me I can't just wake up and have my way with you. Not that I ever would," he added hurriedly.

"Uh huh." She let her cane fall to the floor and began unbuttoning her shirt. "You don't mind if I'm naked, do you?"

"Oh, I insist on it." He fought the urge to grab her and pull her down on top of him as she slipped her bra off her arms. She leaned forward and supported her weight on her shoulders; he understood that she wanted him to take care of undressing her from the waist down. He obliged, gently sliding her pants over her still-bandaged thigh, attempting to kiss the skin above the bandage but feeling the pressure on his shoulders change uncomfortably. He instead helped her down, lying along her side when she'd stretched out on the smooth, cool sheets.

"Just be careful."

"Of course." He pecked her left earlobe before trailing his lips down her neck to her shoulder, where he arrived at the first scar with which he had more than a casual connection. The bullet wound she'd sustained in Siberia was a perfect circle with spider legs. It had had time to fade to a darker skin tone, like the jagged line along the outside of her bicep.

She bent her arm up to embrace his head as he paid tribute to that mark, which she'd gotten the night she'd broken his nose. He had never worked up the courage to ask if it had been the more painful of the wounds she'd received that night. As he tilted his head back to feel her fingers move from stroking his hair to his face, he realized that he didn't want to hear the answer. The ring on her finger – the one he had so carefully selected and so clumsily delivered – sparkled in the lamplight, a confirmation of her acceptance of his flaws.

Her hand dropped to the back of his neck as he returned his attention to her torso and the surgical scar that had yet to lose its angry redness. His lips were only momentarily conscious of the swell of her breast as he moved toward this mark, putting more pressure than necessary on her abdomen as he kissed it, wanting to know that she was not as fragile as these marks seemed to indicate. She responded by gently pushing his head down further.

He complied, wondering if she could feel his smile as his face caressed her smooth stomach en route to his penultimate destination. This was the scar that confused him most. Without that bullet wound, there was every possibility that his contact with Ziva would be limited to their working relationship and he would be fantasizing about her as he kissed another woman. As his tongue traced the border of the healed wound, he remembered the feel of her body as she'd lain limply in his arms and he had been so scared she would die. He pressed his face deeper into her skin, allowing her warmth to convince him of her health, whispering, "I only have you because I almost lost you."

She stopped stroking his hair. "Stop that. You're starting to depress me."

"Just reminding myself how lucky I am. In more ways than just the whole 'I have you naked' thing."

"The first part of that was very sweet."

"I aim to please."

"You need to aim a little better, because right now you're kissing my stomach."

"And you wanted to wait until the morning…" The smile she gave him was very reassuring. He returned it and moved to pull her good leg up over his shoulder as his mouth moved lower.


	6. Chapter 6

McGee knocked softly on the door of Tony and Ziva's apartment, painfully aware of the fact that he was almost twenty minutes early; he'd overestimated the amount of time it would take to drop off his own car at NCIS and exchange it for a vehicle in which the three of them could fit and to stop for pastries at his favorite bakery. He would have remained in the blue sedan until 7:30 arrived, but an elderly woman walking her small, fluffy dog around the block multiples times had glared at him suspiciously, prompting him to try his luck waking his colleagues. Hardened criminals were strangely easy for him when compared to ornery old ladies. He just hoped he wouldn't end up interrupting anything by going upstairs.

He had raised his hand to knock again when the door swung open, revealing a smiling and fully dressed Ziva. "McGee! You're early." She accepted the box of pastries from him. "Oh, you didn't have to bring anything. Thank you. I haven't started breakfast yet, but there's coffee."

"You've, um, got something…" he shuddered involuntarily, his hands still clutching the box, as he stared at the small, wet, whitish spot of… He released his grip and finished, "Um, on your chin. There's something on your chin."

She glanced into the hallway mirror and wiped the spot off with her thumb. After a sniff and a lick, she said, "Toothpaste."

"Sure it is," he muttered, closing the door behind him as he stepped inside.

She turned on her heel, an impressive feat given her leg injury, and looked at him carefully. "And what could you possibly mean by that?"

"Nothing." He followed her into the kitchen, taking a seat at the counter and adding milk and sugar to the cup of coffee she immediately placed in front of him. "Oh, thanks. Tony isn't up yet?"

Almost on cue, Tony's voice approached from the hallway. "Hey, babe, you in the mood to blow…" He stopped as he appeared around the corner. McGee blinked, taking in Tony's appearance before putting himself together enough to avert his eyes. In his peripheral vision, he could see Tony attempting to use his hands to cover himself, and having some difficulty with the task. McGee felt an unwelcome pang of jealousy, knowing that the sting of having Tony pull rank was going to have a slightly different feel from now on.

For his part, Tony ducked back around the corner, poking only his head out to say, "Didn't even hear you come in, McGee. Aren't you a little, uh, early?"

"Yeah. Sorry about that."

Ziva was far more understanding. "Don't worry about it, McGee. And Tony, what were you saying about blowing…"

"Blowing off work?" he interrupted. "Uh, I was just going to suggest we blow off work since we're getting the new car and Gibbs is out with the tooth thing, so we…y'know, I'm just gonna go get dressed. And a shower. I could use a shower too."

"I'm sure." She winked at McGee as a door closed loudly, shouting, "And I'm not giving you breakfast unless you put on some pants!"

Tony gave a muffled assent and she laughed, getting some pans out of the cupboards. McGee sipped his coffee, wishing there'd been a longer line at the bakery. Knowing Tony and Ziva were a couple was one thing; seeing them at home acting like a couple was something else entirely. He shifted on his stool, keeping his attention focused on his coffee.

Ziva either didn't notice or chose to ignore his discomfort, cracking eggs on the edge of a glass bowl. "I told you it was toothpaste. No man recovers that fast. So how was your weekend?"

"All right. I got some work done on…hey, did you finish the manuscript?" McGee smiled, glad they were on a somewhat safer topic. "Because I think I've got the last few chapters sounding like I want them to, so I can give you those once you're ready to read them. Oh, and I rewrote some things from earlier in the book because I had this inspiration…"

"About that, McGee." She dropped a few pats of butter into a frying pan on the stovetop. "Will it be okay if we keep that copy you gave us? Tony made notes that I don't want you adding to the story."

"I wouldn't…"

"That was a polite way of saying things I don't want you knowing about. Scrambled okay?"

"Huh?"

"Your eggs, McGee."

"Oh, yeah. I like scrambled." He watched the butter sizzle in the pan in the moment before she poured the yellow, viscous mixture into it. "So you haven't read any of the manuscript yet?"

"Just the first chapter. Lamborghini hasn't made the Diablo for almost six years."

"Well, yeah, but the name is supposed to be symbolic of…you think it's too heavy-handed?"

"Implying that Dmitri was the devil? No, not really." She opened a package of bacon with a grimace and dropped several slices into a second pan. "But you did ask me to look at the spy details. Just understand that a new car is less than three years old and a car that's more than twenty-five years old is a classic. Anything in between is just an old car."

"That is so not true," Tony said, walking into the kitchen as he buttoned his shirt. "Do I smell bacon?"

"You earned it." Ziva replied with a smirk, which he returned. McGee knew better than to ask for a clarification. "Weren't you going to take a shower?"

"Didn't need to. Probie kinda killed it for me. Good thing I skipped it too, because you're filling the boy's head with lies!" McGee twitched backward as Tony attempted to poke him in the forehead on his way to the coffeepot. "So what kinds of cars are we talking about here?"

"We're actually talking about people like international arms dealers who have no limit on what they can spend. Cost over quality, and the fact is that new cars and really old cars in mint condition cost more than ten year old cars."

"Oooooh, so we're discussing the McNovel?"

"I asked you to stop calling it that, Tony," McGee said, somewhat exasperated. He was having a serious problem coming up with a title for the new novel. "But what did you think of it?"

"I think I come off as kind of a gooey pushover. And I also think you should stop writing in every little thing I tell you. Is your memory just that good or are you wearing a wire?" He grinned and snagged a piece of bacon from the pan with a fork. "Ah, hot!"

"Actually, I wrote your answers down the first chance I got when I was asking you about…" The only sound in the kitchen was the crackling of the bacon as both Ziva and Tony, still chewing, stared him down. "Never mind."

"I'm not saying it was no good, Probie. I just meant that…well, I kind of already knew what was happening. Or you'd change something that happened and I'd get confused because I was expecting it to happen the way that it happened and not the way you had it happen. I'm sure for other people – y'know, regular non-character people – it'll be really good."

"Um…thanks?"

He distributed the bacon between his and McGee's plates and tried to do the same with the eggs before Ziva stopped him. "You can't serve scrambled eggs with a fork."

"Fine, you do it with your ninja spatula technique. Hey, don't put them on top of the bacon!"

"We should get you one of those divided plates they make for toddlers so you won't flip out when your food is touching."

"It's okay for the foods to touch. I just don't want to have to stick my fingers in eggs when I go for a strip of bacon."

"Maybe you shouldn't eat with your fingers."

"It's bacon!"

"What do I know about eating bacon?"

McGee interrupted the exchange before they could raise their voices any more, "Are you two always like this, or is this a performance for my benefit?" They again turned their silent glares, which he noted were surprisingly similar, on him. "I just meant that I'm used to seeing you in the office, and there's kind of a different vibe here."

Tony made a face and Ziva nodded seriously. "It must be the nudity. Now stop stalling and eat. I want get going."

"Yeah, McGee. If you're lucky, she'll ram you leaving the dealership and you can be her first accident in the new car. Ow!" Whatever had happened had occurred out of McGee's line of sight, but he decided it was probably for the best. Tony was now giving a dubious look to a grinning Ziva. "You better be nice to me. You have to sit in my lap on the way to the dealership."

"Actually, Tony…" McGee began, only to be cut off by a wave of Ziva's hand.

She whispered into Tony's ear, prompting a series of excited expressions to pass over his face. He quickly finished he breakfast once she was done and sprinted down the hall. She nonchalantly went back to her eggs, saying, "He decided he needed a shower after all. Honestly, I just say the word 'lap dance' and he's…"

"Ziva," McGee stated firmly. "I'm still eating."

"Oh. Sorry, Tim. So, about the cars in your McNovel…"


	7. Chapter 7

Tony took a step back to admire the perfect curves. He knew he was probably making Ziva jealous by running his fingertips along their length right in front of her, but he didn't even care. A low whistle escaped his pursed lips. "Oh, that is nice. So hot."

"Tony." The admonitory tone in Ziva's voice prompted him to turn his gaze away from the new 350Z. The ride from the dealership to the Navy Yard had almost been too much. He wanted to drive it. He caressed the hood one last loving time before conceding to her silent stare that said she was already over his attention to the vehicle. The shiny, fast, new vehicle with the six-speed…

"Tony!"

"Huh?" He caught himself in the act of leaning down like he was going to hug the car. He straightened and took his coffee cup from the roof. "Oh, inside. Right."

Even though Ziva was attempting to walk quickly, her limp prevented her from going so fast he couldn't afford a glance over his shoulder every few steps. He could still hear the hum of the engine, feel the acceleration as the gears smoothly shifted, and smell the leather. His lack of focus caused him to trip over the curb in front of the building. He tried to cover it up with an awkward twirl. "I like your new car."

She used his arm as an unnecessary handle for pulling herself up the short step. "I noticed."

He held the door open for her and let her pass. "You're gonna let me drive it, right?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"I don't know." He leaned toward the center of the elevator, watching the car until the closing doors blocked it from his view. "Just making sure."

In the bullpen, he found that if he leaned into the window at just the right angle, he could make out the corner of the rear bumper. He thought he heard someone say his name and muttered, "Good…morning." A pinch of his left cheek got his attention. "Ziva!" He turned and saw that she was sitting behind her desk and his assailant was, in fact, standing in front of him. He flushed. "That's sexual harassment, Abs."

"Ziva said it was okay, and since your ass is hers…" Abby grinned and swung her pigtails. "So I hear you're in love all over again."

"What?"

"Is it the engine, the leather, the whole package?"

"Oh, the car!" He turned and looked out the window again. "Well, you'll have to see it up close to really appreciate it, but it is a thing of beauty – aerodynamic lines, understated rear spoiler, lights that conform perfectly to the body shape. Oh, and the interior! Everything is perfectly…"

"You weren't kidding about him liking the car," Abby said, looking at Ziva. Or he assumed she was looking at Ziva; he was looking out the window again.

"I'd say he was trying to make me jealous, but I just can't bring myself to envy a car."

"Gimme a break," he said, deciding he should make an attempt to defend himself. "I've had the Mustang forever. It's just a long time since I've gotten a new car, that's all."

Abby pressed her face to the glass, blocking his view. "I thought it was Ziva's new car."

"Well," Tony began, leaving the window and leaning over the edge of Ziva's desk, "if she can claim ownership of my ass, I can do the same of her car. It's a privilege of being engaged, I guess." He leaned over to peck her lips.

"You don't hear me objecting to it. And just because Gibbs isn't here…"

Abby, who had remained at the window, suddenly interrupted, "Hey, why is McGee out in the parking lot looking over one of the company cars with the UV lamp?"

Tony walked back to the window, looking not where Abby was pointing but at the rear bumper he could just see. He could hear Ziva's shuffling steps on the rug as she approached, but she surprised him by slipping her arms around him from behind. "McGee is just paranoid. He left us alone for five minutes when he had to run into the bank."

"I just wish he'd left us alone a little longer this morning." He turned but she didn't let him out of her embrace. "And now who's taking advantage of the fact that the boss isn't here?"

"Um, both of you and it kind of freaks me out." Abby's glare prompted them to part. "That's right. Go back to the eye sex."

"Eye sex?" Ziva inquired.

"Yeah, that whole staring thing you guys have been doing since before the dawn of time."

Tony didn't hear Ziva's reply as he reached for his phone, which he grabbed on the second ring. "DiNozzo."

"Hold for a call from Anthony DiNozzo, please."

"Shit." He quickly circled his desk, keeping the receiver pressed to his ear, and sank into his chair.

"What?"

Ziva and Abby were both looking at him with some concern now, but he waved them off. "My father is…"

He cut himself off as a familiar terse voice came over the line. "Tony. I can't say I expected a call from you. I can't say it comes as a shock, either. How did you find out?"

"How did _I_ find out?" he replied with some confusion.

"You're right. It isn't important. I would like you to know that I was planning to tell you myself. It is unfortunate that you didn't hear it directly from me."

"From you?"

"But now that you know, I suppose you'll want to meet her."

"Meet her?" Tony repeated back, beginning to feel like a parrot.

"Well, as I don't know exactly how much you know, I'll begin with the basics. Her name is Genevieve. She attended the Wharton School and she's been an employee here for the past five years. We got involved about nine months ago."

Finally fully grasping what was going on, Tony asked, "So I'm finally gonna have a little brother?"

"Don't be crude, son. There are reasons to get married other than a surprise pregnancy. For your information, we won't be having any children. I happen to find her very attractive, both physically and personally. I believe I deserve a good wife by my side. We haven't set a date yet, but…"

He decided he'd heard enough. "So you're engaged? Y'know, that's really weird because I was calling so I could tell you that _I'm_ engaged."

His father's tone became affronted. "Really, son. I know you're upset that you didn't hear about Genevieve from me personally, but there's no need to make an issue of it. I've told you and now you know."

"Uh huh. And now let me tell you what you need to know. Her name is Ziva David and she's from Israel. We've been together for about eight months, sort of including a three-month stretch I can't discuss because it's classified. We've been living together for about two months and I proposed last month in Elba. You might recognize her from the news when we fell into the elephant enclosure at the National Zoo." Tony stopped to take a deep breath. He hadn't even been aware that his father had stolen his thunder until he'd really gotten going. It felt good to say all those things to him. He smiled at Ziva, who was making no secret of listening in on his end of the conversation. She smiled back and turned to quietly reply to whatever Abby was whispering in her ear.

Tony could almost see the gears in his father's head turning as he waited in silence for a response. After what felt like hours, it came. "So you work with her?"

"Yes."

"Well. She seemed…pretty."

"Yeah." He didn't try to take it beyond the superficial assessment.

"Have you…set a date?"

"Not yet."

"Ah, well…as I said, neither have we. You know, Genevieve and I are going to be in Washington in, er, three weeks. Perhaps we could have dinner with you and…your fiancée. I'll have my secretary call once the reservations are made. Have a good day, son."

"Bye, dad." He dropped the receiver into the cradle and took a moment to organize his thoughts. It had gone better than he'd expected, probably because his father had been on the defensive due to his assumptions regarding the nature of Tony's message. He hadn't bothered to come up with any alternative explanations so he hadn't had any response to Tony's totally unexpected news. He placed his hand on Ziva's knee as she perched on the edge of his desk. "My dad's engaged too."

"You're kidding."

"Nope. Afraid not. And we get to meet her in three weeks when his secretary has arranged a dinner at an overpriced restaurant designed to intimidate us with its cost and opulence. Sound good?"

"Not really."

"Then his work is done." He leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on his desk. Ziva leaned down and kissed his cheek before returning to her own desk. He sighed with contentment, knowing that he probably wouldn't have to speak to his father again before their dinner, and that was three weeks away. No need to get worked up over it yet. His attention was drawn to the elevator as it dinged. "Hey, McGee! Car clean?"

"Yes," McGee replied through gritted teeth.

"So you really thought five minutes would be enough? I have serious concerns about your sex life, Probie."

"Don't, Tony."

"Whatever." He let McGee off the hook with no further teasing and looked at Ziva. "Wanna go for a ride?"

"We've been here for less than half and hour."

"Ziva!" Four heads turned to face the stairs, where the Director was standing on the lower landing.

Ziva stood too quickly from Tony's view, grimacing and catching herself on her desk. "What can I do for you, Director Shepard?"

"I heard you've bought a new car. I'd like to see it."

Ziva nodded, following Jenny into the elevator. Tony was able to see the car back out and speed out of the parking lot a few moments later. "What do you think that's all about?"

"No idea," Abby said. "But I doubt a forensic analysis will be necessary." She gave McGee a hard smack on the butt as he passed. "I never thought I'd say this, but this is kind of fun without Gibbs here."

"Hm." Tony continued to stare out the window, wondering how long it would take for the car to come back.

Ziva. For Ziva to come back. In the car.


	8. Chapter 8

Ziva leaned heavily on her cane as she rode the elevator to the ground floor with Jen, who had said nothing since they'd left the squad room and gave no indication that she would be enlightening Ziva as to the nature of the private meeting until they had left NCIS. Ziva was fairly certain she knew what it was all about; it had been happening with some regularity since they'd returned from Rota. And Jen didn't have the same attitude toward cars as Tony.

Ziva led the way to the new car, pausing at the driver's side door. "Well, this is it."

"It's nice."

"Thank you."

Jen didn't say another word until she'd buckled her seat belt as Ziva started the engine. "I miss driving."

"Why?" She looked over her shoulder and thought about running over the redheaded agent who lingered near the rear bumper, trying to look inside. She grinned as he leaped out of the way to avoid her sudden back up. "You drive."

"Not as much as I used to." Jen was inspecting her fingernails, oblivious to the fact that Ziva was continuing to menace the utterly terrified agent. She remembered him making a rude comment about her. She'd had already had her revenge, slicing his wallet off his ass, but a little reminder couldn't hurt. Jen's gaze remained down, as if she were as enraptured by the embroidered floor mats as Tony had been.

Ziva forced herself to stop bringing Tony to mind every time she tried to think about the car. She hit the brakes and changed direction, shifting straight to second and accelerating toward the exit. "Are you trying to ask if you can drive?"

"Are you suggesting you want your gears stripped?" Jen finally looked up and smiled.

"Good point. I knew there was a reason I always drove." Ziva turned out of the NCIS parking lot, heading toward the exit of the Navy Yard. "Did you have any place in particular you wanted to go?"

"Just wanted to get out." Jen stared out the window as Ziva turned onto the highway onramp. They'd been cruising just under eighty for five minutes when she casually asked, "Heard anything?"

Ziva changed lanes without signaling, glancing in the mirror to see the man in the car behind her scream with silent infuriation over being cut off. With the lane ahead of her clear of traffic, she could focus on being only one kind of evasive. "About?"

"You know."

"I'm sure."

"Well?"

"What?"

"Ziva…"

"No."

She intimidated a slower driver out of her lane by tailgating and Jen was forced to get slightly more specific. "You haven't heard or you won't tell me? About them?"

"I haven't heard anything." She crossed all four lanes just for the hell of it. "Don't you have an NCIS team on this?"

"Yes. I also happen to have the Moussad Director's daughter working for me. So I'll ask again – have you heard anything?"

Ziva accelerated into the breakdown lane, passing several cars and swinging out in front of them. "Is there some reason you've decided you can't trust anyone?"

"Excuse me?"

"You just assume that Moussad is keeping secrets and has dragged your own personnel into it. You're getting paranoid, like everyone is out to get you."

"That's enough, Officer David."

Seeing flashing brake lights ahead, Ziva made a sharp turn off the next exit. The brakes screeched as she opted to obey the red light. She took a moment to get her bearings and realized that a left would put her on a direct course back to the Navy Yard. She was halfway across the line when the light turned green. "First of all, Safad and Sahrawi were never after you; they were trying to catch Israelis when you and Lavoie were captured. Like it or not, you just got in the way. Second, this latest encounter? They were planning to buy me from Dmitri, in case you've forgotten. You weren't even involved until you decided to fly to Spain, and even then, you were only informed of the situation out of professional courtesy on my father's part. You need to stop taking this so damn personally because it isn't about you.

"Oh, and this weekly questioning? I don't like it. It's completely unnecessary for you to corner me in the elevator or pull me aside pretending you just want to ask about my health. If I hear anything, I will tell you. If you don't hear anything from me, you can be sure I don't know anything."

Jen crossed her arms over her chest. "So you haven't heard anything then?"

"No."

"You could have just said that."

Ziva narrowly avoided a curb as she made another left around a median, feeling the rubber of the tires briefly scrape the concrete. "I did. You chose not to believe me."

"You were intentionally vague."

"Unlike you."

Jen said nothing, turning her undivided attention to a small beetle clinging for dear life to the passenger-side window.

It took more time than usual to check in at the main gate of the Navy Yard, as the guard didn't recognize the car and therefore didn't just wave Ziva through with a casual glance at her parking sticker. He looked at the sticker, looked at his clipboard, looked at her, looked back at his clipboard… "Would you like to see my badge? Or perhaps Director Shepard's credentials?"

The guard blinked dully and resumed his comparison of numbers. He eventually allowed them to pass. Ziva ventured a comment, "You'd think the Director of NCIS would be treated a little better."

"You would think that." Jen unbuckled her seatbelt but didn't get out of the car immediately. "You're being honest with me?"

Ziva yanked the parking break, allowing the harsh series of clicks to voice her frustration with the constant distrust. "Yes."

Jen's hand was suddenly on her shoulder, squeezing. "I do trust you, Ziva. I'm just…"

"Scared?" Ziva suggested, remembering the way Jen had cowered when she'd come crashing down the stairs so long ago. Or not so long ago. Ziva didn't wait for Jen's response, limping across the parking lot to the building.

Jen caught her at the elevator. She didn't press the stop button once they were inside, simply said, "This stays between us?" as they rode up.

"As always."

Jen got off at the squad room with her and they both nearly collided with Tony. "Hey. Have a nice ride, Director?"

"I did, Tony."

"Everything went all right?"

"The car is fine," she answered, clearly faking the warmth in her voice. "I just wanted a ride in it before it got dented. Have a pleasant afternoon."

Ziva sank into her chair, manually moving her leg into the most comfortable position as Jen ascended the stairs. She was safe for another week, maybe more if Jen had listened to anything but the customary but true denials.

"So what was that really all about?"

Ziva didn't raise her eyes as she concentrated on her leg, her mind basically as blank as she'd been keeping it since Jen had asked her for a ride. "She just wanted to see what the car was like."

She ignored Tony's closeness as he plunked himself on her desk. "Really? No secret missions?"

She looked up sharply, not surprised to see that his eyes were serious in spite of his playful tone. She rose and leaned against him. "I'm through with secrets."

"Then what were you and Madame Director really discussing?"

"I should clarify that I'm through with secrets that could ruin things for us. Is that enough?"

"Will it have to be?"

"Yes."

"Then yes."

She closed the small gap between them with a kiss that surprised her, even with Gibbs confirmed absent. McGee's exasperated sigh was loud enough to carry across the bullpen. Not enough to make her stop, though.

Tony ended it, though he maintained his seat on her desk. McGee shook his head. "Getting it all out of your systems before Gibbs is back tomorrow?"

"Don't make me remind you who the senior field agent is, Probie!"

McGee opened and closed his mouth several times, like a fish out of water. Ziva winked. "Relax, McGee. It was a…training exercise."


	9. Chapter 9

Tony enjoyed a rare moment of solitude as he woke first. While he didn't have any desire to alter his current living arrangement, it was sometimes challenging to be with someone else _all _the time. Home was usually more fun than work for obvious reasons, but Ziva had been mad at him the previous night over something involving the kitchen and he'd pretended to be asleep when she'd eventually come to bed. He grinned as she snored beside him; it had to be a good sign that he loved her enough to put up with _that_. Maybe this day wouldn't have such a bad start…

The past week and a half had been good – he hadn't had to deal with his father any further, the team had been assigned a new probie whom everyone disliked in spite of her apparent competence, and Gibbs' root canal had become infected, forcing him to take an additional two days off. Tony was certain that Gibbs would have happily come in to teach Sister Mary Probie the ropes from the get go, but an order straight from Jenny had prevented him. He'd certainly returned with a vengeance, terrifying the girl into requesting a transfer that had yet to be granted.

The only letdowns Tony was currently facing were the expectation of the upcoming dinner with his father (t-minus twelve days and counting) and Ziva's continued refusal to discuss classified NCIS/Moussad operations she wasn't officially involved with. The latter was the one that Tony was having the most trouble with, which both stunned and mystified him. On the one hand, it was good that he wasn't most concerned about seeing his father; on the other, it was profoundly disturbing to think he'd found something that could concern him _more_ than seeing his father. He was finding it was best not to think about it. Ziva was supremely blasé about both. She'd probably even be blasé about Titanic.

He let out a single bark of laughter at his own lame joke and was immediately careful to remain still as she moved in her sleep. His thinking space was suddenly invaded as she flipped, wrapping her arm tightly around him as she held herself against his side. He held his breath as her other arm slipped behind his neck and she caught him in a tight embrace. Any question he'd been pondering about whether or not she was sleeping was answered when she muttered, "Don't get the wrong idea."

He longed to rip off her t-shirt – his t-shirt, actually – and confirm that he was having the idea she was thinking he had, but confined himself to pushing his arm under her body to return a portion of her squeezing pressure. The loose garment just served to reinforce his need as he fought its deceptive folds to find her slender body. "How's this idea?"

"Fine." She pressed her face into the crook of his neck and began to gently suck at his skin. He found the hem of her shirt and slipped his hand under it. Growling his name, she increased the vigor of her kisses.

Her sleep-mussed hair tickled his cheek and he slid his hand under the elastic waist of her pajama bottoms. She'd confronted him about her missing sleepwear about a week after she'd fallen back on her collection of lacy things and he'd been forced to surrender, turning over her pajamas and a pile of his Ohio State shirts, much like the one that had followed him into her pants and managed to come between his hand and her skin now. He'd just gotten free and administered the first of what he hoped would be many squeezes of her firm left cheek when she pulled back. "I told you not to get the wrong idea."

"Uh…" He didn't move his hand, staring at her with some doubt. "Huh?"

"Don't be an asshole."

"I…what?" He was too confused by the mother of all mixed signals to return her antagonism.

She made another emotional u-turn, this time going from angry to sad instead of back around to sexy. He could hear her say, "Sorry," before her quiet explanation became audible only to his chest.

Not wanting to make her mad again, he repositioned his arm around her waist, noting that she was still hugging him tightly. "Uh…Ziva?" When she looked up, he was surprised to see that she looked upset – or as upset as she was going to look. "What's going on?"

"Noth…nothing."

"Uh, you've been awake for all of thirty seconds and you've already turned me on, insulted me and apologized to me." He braced himself for a violent response. "Do you have your period?"

The punch he was expecting never came; instead, she bumped her hips against him. "Ask me again tomorrow, I think. But…" she somehow tightened her grip on him and became very serious, "it's Tali's birthday."

He swallowed, trying to sort out the many comforting phrases that popped into his head. He finally said, "Oh."

She didn't seem to need the encouragement, quietly continuing, "I've just…it's never been like this. Today. I'm usually alone and I don't answer the phone or I'm busy and I don't think about it. But today…"

He gave her time to say more, but when she didn't, he kissed the side of her head. "Today you've got me. And me is going to make you breakfast."

"Maybe you could just buy me breakfast."

"You _love_ my pancakes," he protested, praying that there was some Bisquick left in the box in the refrigerator. "I'll go get those started if you'll just stop trying to liquefy my internal organs…"

She didn't let go. "It's Saturday and we're not in a hurry. Let's just get dressed and go out for breakfast."

"Okay." He wasn't sure he wanted to restart the argument involving the kitchen, whatever it had been. "But, you, uh…"

Her arms loosened and she pulled back. "Right."

When he emerged from the bedroom twenty minutes later, fully dressed and having carefully arranged his hair to make it look like he'd just gotten out of bed, he found her in the kitchen loading the dishwasher. That was it – the dishes. He should have guessed that one. He adjusted his arm in his sling, glad he'd be rid of the thing in another nine days, and scratched his head. "I washed those yesterday, didn't I?"

"Filling the sink with water and dish detergent then dipping the dishes in does not count as washing."

"Why not?" He picked up a plate from the drying rack. "I'd eat off that."

"We don't all like our meals flavored with the crust of previous meals."

He squinted at the plate. "I think that's just some cheese. Yeah, I ate pizza off this plate the other day. And it wouldn't even be dirty if you hadn't insisted I use a plate instead of just picking up the piece and eating it like always."

She tugged the plate from his hand to prevent him from picking at the remaining cheese. "It saves on the vacuuming."

Crumbs on the floor! That was why she'd been mad – he hadn't noticed the Frosted Flakes he'd spilled on the floor and she'd walked on them. "What did I do without you?" He caught her from behind and swung her around, away from all things domestic that could get him in trouble. "Just leave it. We'll go out."

"Good." She dropped a handful of silverware into the caddy and kicked the door of the dishwasher closed.

He noted that she was moving pretty well without her cane now, even if she still had a fairly pronounced limp. He waited for her to lock the door and dutifully followed her down the three flights of stairs she insisted on taking, suggesting at each of the two landings, "We can go grab the elevator."

"I'm fine." Out of nowhere, she popped open an umbrella when they reached the front door.

"It isn't…" He held the door open for her and felt raindrops splatter on his face. He huddled close to her under the umbrella as they made their way to her car. "How'd you know it was raining?"

"I looked out the window."

"That Moussad training really covers all the angles, doesn't it?" He rushed around to the passenger side door and found it was still locked. "Uh, Ziva?"

She gave him an innocent look before dropping into her own seat and pulling her door closed. He rapped sharply on the window, but she let him sweat, or at least get a little wet, before unlocking his door. "Very funny."

"Just consider yourself lucky I didn't demonstrate any actual Moussad training for you."

"Pancake man in the street?"

"I know you like making pancakes, but do you really want to be referred to as Pancake Man?"

"I was talking about my flattened corpse."

"I wouldn't kill you." She leaned over to kiss his cheek and he shook his head to spray her with water. "I deserved that. But really, Tony, isn't looking out the window just common sense?"

"Uhhh…" He stared out the car window as she backed out of her space and pulled forward with just enough room to clear the car parallel parked ahead of her. Although he was fully aware of his surroundings, he was having a strange auditory fantasy of Ziva screaming 'Pancake Man!' over and over during sex. He was going to have to order eggs or something if he wanted that to stop. He realized that the fantasy hadn't been strictly confined to his imagined hearing as fully dressed Ziva plucked his sleeve in the parking lot of a drug store. Forgoing the obvious question of how they'd gotten there, he asked, "Uh…what?"

"Can you run in for me?" she said slowly, with the inflection of someone repeating herself for a slow listener. "It's raining and you have two good legs."

"Oh. Sure. What am I getting?"

"Tampons."

He immediately regretted his uninformed consent. The rain beat a steady rhythm on the roof of the car. "Tampons?"

"Yes. Tampax regulars. Blue box, yellow label."

He nodded and got out of the car, walking slowly to the store, not at all worried about the rain. The lights inside were very, very bright. He smiled nervously as he saw himself cross the threshold on a security feed wired to a television suspended above the entrance. He scanned the store and patrons, seeing a high number of old ladies. Old ladies wouldn't judge him, would they? There was even an old lady at the checkout counter. Maybe more like middle aged, but still…

He was almost on his tiptoes when he arrived at the aisle with a sign declaring the presence of feminine hygiene products. Some sick bastard had put them in the same aisle as the condoms. He turned his back on the smaller boxes with familiar colors and stared at the packages with names he didn't recognize. He grabbed the first squishy blue package he saw and sprinted for the front of the store. The line had grown by three people since he'd walked in.

He chanced a glance at the package clasped in his hand. Aside from the plastic packaging, the pads felt just like a Nerf football. Pads? He ran back down to the aisle and took a deep breath. Ziva had told him to buy tampons. He carefully set the pads on the shelf and selected a blue box with a pink label. He rejoined the line, which had not grown during his mad dash back to…the condom aisle. The clerk gave him a wink as he paid a minute later. He returned to the car triumphant.

Ziva opened the bag he tossed at her and frowned as he sank into his seat. "Tony…"

He gaped, wondering why his shower of praise had been replaced by this utter ingratitude. He stabbed a finger at the purchase that had caused him more stress than necessary. "Blue box. Pink label thingy. What's the problem?"

"First of all, I said Tampax. These are Playtex. And I also asked for regulars, with the yellow label. These are super."

"So they're even better than what you asked for, right?"

"Super absorbency, Tony. They're way too thick."

"So…size matters?"

"Don't make this sexual."

"Well, they go…"

She interrupted, "I will remove your toenails with a butter knife."

"Right. So I have to go in again?"

"And exchange these."

"What?" Returns took time – time at a counter in front of strangers while a clerk winked at him. "What if you need these later because you're feeling, uh, super?"

Using the bag as a shield against the rain he ignored the pain in his left arm where she'd punched him and ran across the parking lot, back into the store, making a beeline for the aisle that was fast becoming his arch-nemesis. Not wanting to risk another snafu, he hit the number 2 speed dial button on his phone. Ziva answered on the second ring. "Tampax?"

"Yeah."

"Blue box?"

"There's two different ones that say Tampax regular."

"Get the one that says pearl."

"You sure?"

"Read me what it says on the box."

He glanced around to make sure he was by himself before quickly saying, "Tampax pearl, regular."

"Good boy." The phone gave a low buzz in his ear as the line went dead.

He could feel his ears burning as he returned to the checkout, convinced that the whole thing had been a setup. And he couldn't even retaliate because it was her dead sister's birthday. The thought quashed his desire for one-upping. As he stood in line again, he thought carefully. Maybe that whole thing about misery loving company was true and he'd just have to grin and bear whatever she threw at him today.

He dropped the bag onto the counter and put on his best ashamed face for the clerk. "Can I just trade these? I got the wrong ones."

"'Course, hon. Trying to prove yourself to the new girlfriend?"

"We're engaged." He glanced over his shoulder to see a pre-pubescent boy with his mother looking curiously at the boxes now displayed on the counter. Tony shifted slightly to conceal the tampons and answered the clerk's unasked question. "We haven't set a date yet."

"Well! Congratulations! I'll need another sixty cents from you to make up the price difference…and there you are!" She placed the new box in the bag and winked again. "Good luck, now."

He muttered his thanks and returned to the car, this time tossing the bag at Ziva with more force than he intended. She leaned toward him and he winced. "Thank you." She followed up the kiss on his cheek with a brief nuzzle of her nose, which gave him time to turn his head and catch her mouth with his, all tampon-related trauma forgotten.

He noticed that she looked sad again when they parted. "Do you want to do anything, uh, special today?"

"Can we just spend the day together? Maybe go home after breakfast and…watch movies?"

"Is that really what you want?" He gently rubbed the back of her neck.

"I just want to be with you."

He settled his hand on her thigh as she drove up the street to a restaurant where they ate breakfast every other weekend. He decided that he really was in the mood for pancakes.


	10. Chapter 10

Ziva grinned at Tony from across the bullpen, ignoring the throbbing pain in her thigh. The short dash across the parking lot a few minutes before had been excruciating, but she'd managed it with little to no observable discomfort. Gibbs had agreed that she could return to her normal duties the moment she'd come to a skidding halt at the front door of the building a full three seconds before McGee.

Tony glowered at her from behind his desk. "I can't believe you got approval to be back in the field before I did."

"Well, as I have no overt signs of injury – like, say, a cast – and I can perform at a level consistent with other members of the team…"

"You beat McGee in a footrace," Tony interrupted, adjusting his arm. "If that's the only fitness criteria, NCIS could recruit at the local old folks' home."

She walked over to him, mindful to control her still-present limp. She sincerely hoped her return to her former routine would involve more crime scenes and fewer suspect chases. Gibbs would give her a reason to go back to desk duty if she screwed up in the field. She sat on the edge of his desk and rubbed the top of his head. "You'll be back in three days. You're just upset because I won."

"I wasn't in the race," he pouted, running his hand through his hair to re-spike what she'd flattened.

"I meant that I got off desk duty first."

He finished arranging his hair and pushed his chair back when she reached out to touch him again. "Hmph."

"What?"

"Nothing. I just find it a little strange."

She slid along the edge of his desk, cornering him. "What, exactly?"

He eyed her critically as she ran a finger along his jaw line, feeling a few errant hairs he'd missed shaving. He caught her hand and held it still. "You can run but we can't have sex?"

"Tony…"

"No, I'm just wondering why one cardiovascularly intense activity is okay and the other involves a doctor's consent." His hand came down on her knee and squeezed. "You don't have a doctor's approval to be in the field yet." He grinned just short of maliciously.

"And this is going to matter to Gibbs…how?"

"I'm not saying it would." He tilted his chair back and looked smug. She rolled her eyes, but it was more for the benefit of Jen and Gibbs, coming down the stairs behind Tony's desk. He continued, "However, I'm sure it's a huge liability that Legal and Personnel and Director Shepard will be very interested…"

"What will I be interested in, Tony?"

He swung his chair around quickly and bumped Ziva's leg; she clenched her jaw and said nothing. "Oh, Director. I was just…uh…Ziva's not better yet."

"Gibbs said she's mobile enough to resume fieldwork. Was he lying?"

"Absolutely…not," Tony replied. Ziva had given him a sharp poke in the ribs to make sure he was just pausing and not stopping. "I'm sure she's fine if everyone is saying so."

"You'll be back to complaining about your workload next week, DiNozzo."

"Three days, actually, boss."

Ziva twitched with silent laughter as Gibbs smacked Tony on his way past. "The Director has a meeting I'm for some reason required to attend. Page me the second some one finds a body." He turned before entering the elevator. "Don't kill anyone just to get on my good side, David. And you two'd better not…" His disembodied voice was cut off as the doors closed.

Ziva turned back to Tony, who was again fixing his hair, presumably mussed in the wrong way again by Gibbs' slap. "Well…what do you think he was warning us not to do?"

"What difference does it make? We're not doing it anyway."

She fought to keep her temper under control. "So you're trying to tell me you're unsatisfied with our relationship?"

"Hey, I like getting head as much as any other man on the planet, but if you think that's enough…"

She decided to skip the most obvious counterargument about her own needs and try some flattering logic. "How long did it take me to cover the distance I ran?"

"Like, ten seconds, if that."

"Hm." It had been more like seven, but she didn't correct him. "And how long do we usually spend having sex?"

"An hour."

"Cut out the begging, foreplay and snuggling."

"Uh…" He looked at her like he was trying to guess the number she wanted to hear. "Well, a lot longer than ten seconds."

"Yes. Just give it a few days."

"Give what a few days?" McGee asked, coming around the corner into the bullpen.

"Mind-blowing sex," Ziva answered, not breaking her eye contact with Tony. He ran his hand up her thigh.

McGee ran to his own desk. "Where's Gibbs?"

"Some meeting with Jenny," Tony said, rolling his chair so he was directly in front of Ziva, with her knees almost touching his stomach. "But as long as we're talking about this, can I make a request?"

"You can make all the requests you want…"

"Sweet. I have two words for you then – metal bikini."

"…and I'll reserve the right to ignore them."

"No, seriously. Y'know, Princess Leia? _Return of the Jedi_? McGee, help me out."

"No." McGee remained at his desk, eyes averted.

"Whatever, Jabba." Tony gave Ziva a wink, brushing his fingers over her thighs as he rolled over to McGee's desk. "With Gibbs gone for the day, I'm in charge and I could assign you to run back and forth across the parking lot until you can make it in under thirty seconds."

"You should talk. You just stood by Ziva's car laughing at me. I had a giant rock in my shoe and I couldn't run right on it."

"Don't make excuses, Probie, just make time for the treadmill. You're looking better since you hooked up with the personal trainer, but you've still got a ways to go before you look good enough to nab an international secret agent."

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, because you have the most impressive physique I've seen in all my travels." Her gaze was drawn to his lap – he did have one attribute she found impressive. Not the biggest, but definitely the best. She tensed the muscles of her lower abdomen, thinking about what they could do when they got home before remembering they actually couldn't. Three days. She was going to be up for it in three days, come hell or…a quadruple homicide.

She blinked and realized that Tony had something else, to which McGee was replying, "I have no interest in…" He trailed off, his angry glare at Tony quickly transforming into an alarmed stare directed at her feet. "No offense, Ziva, but I'm kind looking for someone a little more settled."

Tony unexpectedly sprang to his feet. "You think she just settled for me?"

"I didn't say that."

"Her father likes me, y'know."

Ziva limped to McGee's rescue. "Relax, Tony. I believe he was just saying that he doesn't want to be involved with someone whose car is liable to be used to fake his death. You mean settled down with a stable job and less than five guns in her apartment, yes, McGee?"

"Well, I'm hoping for a woman with no guns, but, yes, you've got the general idea."

"Oh." Tony sat back down and propelled himself down the central aisle between the desks. "Sorry about that. All my college buddies are convinced I'm lying my way into a marriage with some stupid rich girl I'm gonna dump once I've got her money, like I'm my dad or something."

She patted his head as she walked to her own desk. They'd gotten a message a few days before giving them the day and time of their dinner reservation with Tony's father and his fiancée. "We'll see how different you and he are in six days."

"I hope so." He bumped his chair against the front of her desk. He lowered his voice and said, "But about that metal bikini…"

"Tony…"

"You could have seen it last weekend if we hadn't watched _The Sound of Music_ three times."

She frowned, not wanting to be reminded of her weakness. "That was only because…"

"I know." He hand moved across her blotter to cover her own. He returned her sincere smile before continuing, "Still. The metal bikini would be hot. Then maybe Wonder Woman…"

"Do we have to discuss this in the office?"

"Why not? Gibbs isn't here and you've already traumatized McGee with your dirty, dirty mouth that I love so much. I could send him down to the lab so we could have some privacy." In the time it took her to consider the offer, his phone rang and he scooted back to his own desk. "DiNozzo…yeah. Where? Uh huh. 'Kay. Thanks, Mulvaney." He spun around in his seat before standing. "Gear up. We're going out."

"We? Don't you mean McGee and I?"

"Nope. I mean grab the keys and let's get down to the truck. McGee! You're driving! Let's go!"

Ziva enjoyed the weight of her gun as she clipped the holster to her belt. "Are we rushing so by the time Gibbs finds out you've come, we'll already be there?"

Tony tucked his holster into his sling and slung his backpack over his shoulder. "Something like that."

"It certainly explains why you didn't want me driving."

He kissed her cheek quickly as they waited for McGee at the elevator. "I get enough of the demolition derby during our off hours."


	11. Chapter 11

Tony kicked the side of the examination table with his heels as he swung his legs, staring at the clean white tile on the floor. He'd been waiting six weeks for this day. Not even Ziva's willingness to help him in the shower had made having the cast on his right forearm worthwhile – though it _had_ livened things up a bit. Oh, and the whole thing with the stability for bone regrowth or whatever… He was going to be very happy not to be a one-armed man anymore.

Gibbs had not been pleased when he'd arrived at the crime scene a few days before to see Tony snapping pictures and ordering McGee to do all the grunt work. Tony wasn't sure what Gibbs was so upset about; he suspected that it was spillover frustration from a combination of whatever meeting he'd been called out of and the fact that the case he'd been called to was a simple B&E assigned to the Major Case Team because it had occurred in the home of a rear admiral. As if the case couldn't have gotten more demeaning, it turned out that there hadn't actually been a break-in – just a college-age daughter trying to hide her torrid affair with one of the admiral's junior staffers. Tony thought the interrogation had been one of the more amusing moments of the case, if only because he liked watching from the safety of Observation as Ziva tried control her utter condescension.

Ziva now sat in a chair against the wall, flipping through a magazine. He allowed his heels to hit the metal more forcefully, but she didn't startle or even look up as a result of the increased noise. Today was the day – well, technically tomorrow was the day but she'd agreed that a day early wouldn't hurt – that their lives would get back to normal. The lack of sex for the past few weeks had been driving him progressively crazier. He would lay awake some nights, fighting with himself – touch her or leave her alone? He always went with the logical answer, but another week and he knew he'd probably be picking the action that would get him another cast. That didn't matter now. He licked his lips and let his eyes travel up and down her body, thinking of only one thing. "So…when we get home, right?"

She sighed and closed the old _Rolling Stone_, the only reading material provided in the room. "I don't understand why there are movie reviews in here. This magazine is full of stories about musicians and then you turn the page and…movies. And books, but not really anything I'd want to read."

He scratched under the frayed lip of his cast, wondering why the doctor was taking his sweet time. One of Tony's main motivations for scheduling this appointment for the end of the day had been the added incentive of going directly home instead of back to work. Places to go, people to do… "I don't know. Whatever." He held his breath as she uncrossed her legs and recrossed them in the opposite direction. She wasn't even wearing a skirt. What a waste. He scooted to the edge of the table, leaning toward her. "But…when we get home?"

"When we get home what?"

She sounded too disinterested to be believed. He knew she wanted it, so that left only one explanation. He swallowed his pride. "Uh…please?"

She smirked, but said, "Tony, just spit it out."

He glanced nervously at the door, not wanting a medical professional to overhear. "I believe me getting my cast off was going to be followed immediately by what we've been calling 'mind-blowing sex'."

"I know."

"And…"

She took a swab from one of the jars on the counter and used the non-cotton end to pick at something under her fingernail. "If you obsess over it we won't make it home, and I refuse to stain the leather in my new car."

His spine went rigid as he remembered the one thing that could disrupt his singular focus. "Can I drive home?"

Her eyes remained on her hands as she moved on to the next fingernail. "Only if you aren't thinking about sex."

He gave a snort of laughter. "If that's the rule, I'll never be allowed to drive again."

"I meant if you're thinking _only_ about sex. I haven't been in an accident with it yet, and I'd like to keep it that way."

"Well, we could always just lock the door of this room once the doctor's done. Get it out of our systems before we drive home. And that'll give me just enough time to…" He trailed off, knowing it had been the wrong thing to say when she looked up at him. "Unless you're in a one and done mood."

"What's that expression from your football? Three and out?"

He swallowed to clear his mouth of the collecting saliva, not wanting to burst the bubble with a technical description of why a three and out was not a good thing in football. In bed, with Ziva, however… He swallowed again. "Okay, I can do that. But I'm gonna need a nap."

"You'll probably need a full night's sleep."

"Before or after?"

"We'll see how you do."

A knock on the door stopped him from answering her; he got out only a choked, "Come in."

Twenty minutes of awkward chatting about the weather and not looking at Ziva later, Tony sniffed his newly freed arm and scrunched up his nose. Then he tried the cast; the effect was even worse. "Oh, that's nasty. Hey, Ziva, smell this."

She rolled her eyes. "I put up with enough of your odors, thanks. And that thing hasn't had the most pleasant smell for the past two weeks."

"Really?" He sniffed his arm again and looked around the room for a sink that he felt should have magically appeared. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"What could you have done? As long as you haven't developed a fungus or something…"

The doctor finished contorting Tony's arm into one last bizarre position and said, "No fungus. No mold. Clean. Good to go. See the nurse on your way out and have a nice day." He tugged the door shut with a slight thud before either Tony or Ziva could return the sentiment.

"Clearly a people person," he muttered, springing off the table and attempting to tackle her.

She avoided him with a simple sidestep and jingled her keys. "I'll meet you in the waiting room. And if your arm still smells, you aren't touching me."

Visions of trading his perfect night in bed for one spent on the sofa with his arm soaking in a soapy bucket filled his mind. He began a plea, "But…"

She cut him off as she walked into the hallway. "Just wash well."

Tony was still smelling his pale arm carefully a short time later when he walked into the small waiting room of the doctor's office. He was fairly certain he hadn't been able to detect any odor after five minutes of scrubbing the strangely textured skin, but had dedicated an extra five minutes to the soap and water just to be on the safe side. Five minutes now was a small price to pay for a guaranteed…he decided it would be best not to impose a time limit for later. He thrust his arm under Ziva's nose. "Okay?

"I suppose that will have to do." She dropped the keys into his still outstretched hand. "We should get home, yes?"

He clutched the metal end of the key until he was sure the ridges had to be cutting his palm. "Yes."

* * *

"Oh, God…"

Ziva felt Tony's body tense briefly before he relaxed on top of her, burying his face in her neck as he stopped moving. She gave him a few moments to confirm that he was done before asking disgustedly, "You're kidding, right?"

He raised his head and smiled at her. "Hmm? What?"

"How can you be done already?"

"Are you not…?" His eyes grew wide. "I'm sorry, I thought…"

"Um, no." She was more annoyed than anything else. She'd been resigned to the possibility of an unsatisfying quickie, but she'd also nearly convinced herself that it would up to Tony's usual standard. All that buildup and then…this.

He didn't seem bothered in the least. "You _were_ pretty quiet." He propped himself up on his arms, smiling as his face hovered over hers. "But you must be close."

"No."

"But it…"

"I guess driving the car just put you in a fast mood."

"It wasn't…"

She was in no mood to be subtle or even civil – the striptease she'd done for him was looking more and more like a big mistake. "Tony, it took me longer to take my clothes off."

"Oh." He contemplated her for a moment, still lying on top of her. She felt the ineffectual pressure as he pushed his hips into her. "Well, do you want me to…"

She cut him off. "Don't bother. Just get off me."

"Ziva, I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

She knew he could read her tone, which was clearly saying the opposite of the words. He rolled to the side, allowing her to move to the edge of the bed, facing away from him. She felt him scoot toward her and spoon against her. "You should take it as a compliment, you know. It's been a long time and I was just so excited over you that I couldn't contain myself."

She picked up his arm and moved it to disengage herself from his embrace. "Oh, and I'm clearly not as excited about you because I need more than thirty seconds?"

"I…can you just give me some time and we'll try it again?" His plea was clearly sincere. Unfortunately for him, she wasn't feeling terribly magnanimous.

He tried to get his arm back around her, but she sat up. Looking at him over her shoulder, she considered him quickly; he looked very tired. "Maybe later."

"What if…" He tried to cover his mouth to hide his yawn. "We could find something in your fun drawer."

She was unable to stop herself from a glance at the top drawer of her nightstand. She fought the temptation and said, "I said later. You should be glad I'm not saying tomorrow."

"I'm sorry!" She could hear the anxiety in his voice.

"I know." She stood and picked up the first item of clothing she saw. Pulling Tony's oversized sweatshirt over her head, she turned toward him. "Just take a nap. I'll wake you for dinner later."

"You don't have to make dinner," he mumbled, already tucking himself under the covers. Apparently her lack of fulfillment wasn't enough to keep him awake.

She closed the bedroom door quietly behind her and walked toward the kitchen. The weight of the knife in her hand as she began to chop vegetables made her feel slightly better. It wasn't _entirely_ Tony's fault. She knew she'd been actively baiting him for the past few weeks – and he wasn't exactly the most skilled man she'd ever met in the willpower department. She hoped that a tofu stir-fry dinner would be all it took to set him straight in the 'how to satisfy Ziva' department.

Her kitchen ministrations were halted by the telephone. She picked up on the second ring. "Yes?"

She was greeted by a voice speaking in Hebrew, "I'm surprised to hear your voice. Tony usually picks up the phone."

"Shalom, Abba." She was more pleased than surprised to find that her father's voice on the line wasn't the awful jolt it had been in the past, but also a little uncomfortable considering what she and Tony had just been doing. "And how are you?"

"I'm doing quite well. I am more curious about your medical status."

"I don't see the doctor until tomorrow," she said, fairly sure that he'd been aware of her scheduled medical visits from across the Atlantic. "I'm confident that everything will be fine, as I'm already on full duty at work."

"Indeed." In spite of the many miles separating them, she was glad that his deliberate pause was not occurring in the same room in which she was present. "And you achieved this reinstatement honestly?"

A knock on the front door sounded like salvation to her. "Abba, I'll be sure to call you after my doctor's appointment tomorrow, but right now…"

"I know. You have a life." She bit her lip, fighting back a retort for her father's belatedly correct assumption that she'd rather be having sex than chatting on the phone. There were too many things she didn't want to risk saying out loud at the moment. He sighed, "Shalom, Ziva."

"Shalom." The dial tone sounded in her ear as she walked to the front door, opening it before she processed the fact that it was probably inappropriate to be opening it wearing only a sweatshirt.

Jimmy Palmer's wide-eyed stare confirmed her feeling. "Uh, Ziva, hi. If this is a bad time…"

She tucked the telephone into the sweatshirt's front pouch and leaned casually against the doorframe as she assessed the unexpected visitor. "Why would you think it's a bad time?"

"Well, you're, uh…you…um…" his gaze flitted downward and he concluded in a whisper, "legs."

"Yes. I have legs." She stepped back to allow him to enter, which he did hesitantly, taking more time than necessary to close the door. She moved behind the kitchen counter to hide the apparent source of his discomfort, if his pointedly upward gaze were any indication. "Are you here for any particular reason or just to confirm I haven't lost any limbs since you saw me last?"

"Huh? Oh!" He made an abbreviated move to join her in the kitchen, but seemed to realize that he was safer standing in the middle of the living room. He eyes remained fixed on the ceiling as he began speaking very quickly, "Tony said that you guys are moving and he wants to sublet this apartment, and I'm looking for a new place to live because, well, my current place is really small, so he said I could come by sometime and see it. But I can just go if you're busy."

"Not at all. I'll give you the grand tour."

"Right now?"

She was glad that he was so flustered; it meant he wouldn't notice the jolt of surprise she'd felt when he'd reminded her that she and Tony were moving within the next two weeks. They'd decided to do it gradually, first moving all of her remaining furniture out of Gibbs' house, where it had been sitting since her eviction. She paced a circle around the kitchen to clear her head, not wanting to throw the past and future into the complicated present. Stopping at the refrigerator she asked Jimmy, "Would you like something to drink first?"

"What? Oh, no, I just thought you might want to…get dressed?"

She briefly considered answering 'no,' but poor Jimmy would likely only see how nice the ceiling was. "Why don't you have a look around out here? I'll get dressed and wake Tony."

"You don't have to…I knew I was interrupting something. I can come back later."

"Trust me, later is worse." She just caught his alarmed stare as she pulled the bedroom door shut behind her. Grabbing her jeans off the top of her dresser, she put them on and made her way to the bed.

Tony let out a slight 'oomph' as she sat lightly on his chest. "Babe, get off me."

"Can't remember you ever saying that before."

"Well…hey!" He turned his face away to prevent her from flicking his nose again. "Impatient, aren't we?"

"Yes, but not why I'm waking you." She slid down to sit on the mattress to ease the temptation she felt to yank her pants right back off again. Her disappointment from earlier was hardly a memory. She ran her fingers over his chest before a noise in the hallway reminded her that they weren't alone. "Jimmy Palmer is here."

"Yeah, sure." Tony rolled away, but did grab her hand as he did so, pulling her down. "Nice try, but I know you can't be that desperate. I need more time. Not a lot, but I'm sure you'd rather wait than give in."

She sat up and grasped his shoulder, pulling him back toward her. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"I've got your little plan figured out – make me think you called some other guy over, like you're gonna have sex with him if I'm not ready when you want me…"

The arm he draped over her lap was oddly pale; she'd been ignoring it since its appearance in the doctor's office. She supposed anything would be pale after being encased in plaster…or was it fiberglass?…for almost two months, but that didn't mean she had to do anything other than hide her distaste. She felt her lip curl up as an involuntary shudder rippled down her neck; the muscles moving under the skin of his forearm as he squeezed her thigh were quickly alleviating all her libidinous urges. She looked at his face as she stood to remember she wasn't just engaged to a temporarily creepy arm. "Just put some clothes on. He's thinking about subletting."

"Right." Tony suddenly sat up. "Damn, that's right. I forgot. Uh…Jimmy Palmer said he might stop by to check out the apartment, okay?"

"I know. That's what I just said."

"Yeah, but now you can't claim I never told you."

"Smooth. Put your pants on."

He didn't make a move to throw the covers off. "How long do you think he'll be here?"

"I don't know. How long does it take to look at a few rooms?"

"I'm just saying…" He looked significantly at his lap. "Throw me a pair of sweats. Loose ones."

She grinned. "Didn't need as long as you thought?"

"Can we just get this over with?" She felt her smile drop and he continued, "The thing with the autopsy gremlin, I mean. I don't want him to break down the door when he hears you screaming and thinks I'm murdering you forty minutes from now."

"We need to find a happy medium between too fast and too slow."

He shot her a dazzling grin as she exited the bedroom. "Sounds like an intense project. Every night after work and all weekend?"

She rolled her eyes, but reminded herself to check and see if they had any cranberry juice in the refrigerator.


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Apologies for the long wait between updates. I'm in school (again) and it consumes me.

* * *

Tony dropped his head onto Ziva's shoulder as he came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. She didn't comment, but shifted slightly to the side. The stream of warm water from the showerhead hit him directly in the mouth. He ducked his face into her neck, using his nose to push aside her hair. She attempted to disengage his hands, which he'd slid up her body. "No, Tony. We're going to be late."

"Mmm." He kissed her neck as he fought to maintain contact with her breasts. He didn't look up until she managed to pull his hands down. "Aw, come on. Isn't this more fun than having dinner with some mean old guy and his moronic girlfriend?"

"He's your father and we need to do this." She turned to face him. "What if I make you a deal?"

"Yes." He reached down to grab her ass and press her hips against him. "We'll stay home and I'll lick whipped cream and chocolate sauce off you."

"Calm down." She pushed back, but he had her trapped against the wall of the shower. No matter where he kissed her, she didn't relent. "We're going to dinner no matter how hard you try to stab me with that thing."

"You're gonna make him sad," he whispered, hoping that his persistent poking would make her change her mind. He squeezed his eyes closed as he felt her pour shampoo on his hair and begin to lather it. "I see. Get me all clean before we get dirty."

Water hit his face again before she pecked his lips. "Save it for later." She was already out of the shower and wrapped in a towel by the time he'd fully rinsed his hair. "And hurry up in there. We don't have much time."

"Fine." He took the bar of soap from the ledge and rubbed it between his hands. He could hear Ziva's hairdryer; that alone would give him plenty of time to work on her. "So you're sure you wouldn't rather just stay home?"

"What?" she shouted.

He raised his voice, "You're sure you want to go out?"

"Stop trying to talk yourself out of it."

"I never wanted to go!" he protested. "I'm trying to talk _you _out of it."

"Good luck." He nearly slipped when she unexpectedly reached back into the shower and grasped him. She purred, "Still haven't given up, I see."

He grinned as her hand moved back and forth. "That is so not the way to discourage me."

"But it should keep you from getting distracted again for…" she squeezed and he gasped, "an hour?"

After his initial contact with her body and an additional minute of water hitting him, he was getting to a point where he didn't really care. He locked his knees and braced his hands as best he could against the slippery tile, content to watch and enjoy the action. He had always known he wasn't going to get out of dinner with his father, so it couldn't hurt to be in a good mood for it…or at least for the next minute or so. He looked up from Ziva's hand to her face; she was watching him and smiling. He smiled back. "Very persuasive."

"Still interested in my deal for you?"

His gaze flicked down again as everything got tenser. "Does it involve stopping right now?"

"No."

"I promise I'll agree to anything in another thirty…uughh, oh, Ziva…"

"Too bad I've already dried my hair or I'd get back in and finish you off with…"

The comment proved to be enough and he groaned with his release. "Babe, you are the best." It wasn't until he exited the bathroom, clean-shaven and still wrapped in his towel, that he remembered something about a deal she had been offering. "What were you saying earlier abou…" His jaw went slack, unable to finish his question.

Ziva had to be completely oblivious to the way she looked to be so calmly applying makeup in front of the mirror. He couldn't adequately process the combination of skin, curves and red clingy fabric, although he had the distant impression that he should say something extremely complimentary about how she looked. She turned from the mirror. "About what?" Confronted with this view, Tony was still unable to form a coherent thought that didn't involve getting her dress off her body and onto the floor as soon as humanly possible. He walked forward, hands extended, her look of confusion not proving any deterrent. "What?"

"You…red…oohhh." She smiled and stepped away. He was about to complain until she bent over to pick up a pair of sandals with heels he was instantly imagined lengthening her legs. The effect was better than he'd pictured when she put them on. "Oh. Sparkly." He made a conscious effort to raise his eyes slowly, drinking in every exciting detail as he went.

He'd made it to her neck when she spun in a circle and he dropped his towel. Grinning as she eluded his grasp, she winked. "I see you like my dress. Even the little head is nodding."

"Uhh huhuhuhh." He stayed rooted to his spot, watching her walk around the room. "Oohh."

It was too late when he realized that she was at the door. "Your suit is on the hanger on the back of the closet door. Hurry up or we'll be late."

* * *

Tony gripped the steering wheel as he waited for the valet, having forgotten everything but the futility of what they were about to do. "So you don't mind a stranger driving your new car?"

He could tell that Ziva was about three steps past annoyance when she answered, "We're at a reputable business. I'm sure there's nothing to worry about."

"That's what Ferris told Cameron, and we all saw how _that_ turned out." He allowed himself a brief glance at her, legs crossed, fingers tapping her bare thigh just below the hem of her dress, which had ridden up when she'd sat down and… He shook his head to clear it. Now was for serious business, not happy time. Although… "I think we should just go home."

She kept her gaze fixed on a point somewhere outside the windshield. "If you say that again, I will shave off your eyebrows with my knife before we go in."

This time his gaze was not shy in its assessment of her body. "Where could you possibly be keeping a knife?"

"Do you really want to know?"

The valet's ill-timed appearance at the window saved Tony from answering incorrectly. "Sorry for the wait, sir. I can take it from here."

Tony paused at the door of the restaurant, watching the car disappear around the corner. One escape route down, but running could always be a good second option. Ziva's nails dug into his hand as he hesitated following her inside. A maître d' in a tuxedo immediately confronted them with an upturned chin and a nasal voice. "May I help you?"

Tony hurriedly buttoned his jacket, which he'd neglected to do after getting out of the car, and put on his best expression of entitlement. "Reservation for 'DiNozzo.'"

The man's demeanor changed instantly to one of servile politeness. "Ah, terribly sorry, sir. Right this way." He held out his arm to direct them down an open hallway. "I escorted your party to the bar not a minute ago. I'm afraid we have a slight wait due to a scheduling conflict. I can assure you the employee responsible has been dealt with severely." He bowed them into a large room featuring a rainforest's worth of woodwork. "Please enjoy a cocktail or two with my compliments. I'll inform you the instant your table is ready."

An unhappy voice replied before Tony could, "See that you do."

Tony took a deep breath and stepped in front of Ziva, unsure of how protective he could be. He extended his hand to the silver haired man who rose from the leather club chair. "Dad."

"Son." His father returned the pressure he exerted and more before releasing his hand and turning, waving casually at a blonde in a dress more revealing but not nearly as flattering as Ziva's. "This is Genevieve."

Tony shook the woman's hand and she smiled toothily. "Well, I can see my Anthony passed on his good looks."

"Uh, yeah. Nice to meet you." He took a deep breath and smiled, not needing to step aside, as Ziva had taken up a position beside him. "Ziva, this is my father, Anthony DiNozzo. Dad…this is Ziva David, my fiancée."

His father smirked and said, "It's a _pleasure_ to meet you."

Ziva reached out to shake his hand, but was intercepted by Genevieve. "Aren't you adorable! Hola! Hablo ingles?"

Tony nudged Ziva, who raised an eyebrow as she shook the woman's hand. "Wouldn't it be easier just to speak English?"

"Oh! And you speak such _good _English! I'm almost ashamed my Spanish isn't better."

"Yes." Ziva smoothed her dress as she sat. "Why?"

"Well, then we could chat like girlfriends! Two languages though…whew! Are you a travel agent or something?"

Tony scooted his chair closer to Ziva's and took her hand in his. "She actually speaks a bunch of languages. And she's not a travel agent. She works with me at NCIS."

"So, do you vacuum, empty the wastebaskets, that sort of thing?"

"What the…"

"Tony…" Ziva's voice contained a slight edge as she interrupted Tony, but the look in her eyes carried a clear message – _Let me handle it_. He clamped down on her hand, hoping she'd been lying about having a knife on her. As if that could deter her. He could feel the tension being transmitted through her fingers as she politely inquired, "Excuse me?"

His father continued to smirk in an infuriating way. "No offense to you. I'm sure you're a perfectly, er, _nice_ girl, but I know my son. I will admit that I'm surprised that this romp in the janitor's closet with a pair of nice legs prompted him to propose to the cleaning lady, though."

Tony couldn't hold his tongue. "I'd watch what you say to her, Dad. She's not only an armed federal agent, she's also a Moussad assassin."

"Tony!"

He ignored Ziva's reprimand and his father's angry glare, instead turning to the waiter who had just appeared with a tray. "Vodka martini. Ziva? Anything?"

"The same."

"Very good." The waiter nodded and moved around the chairs to unload his tray.

As he placed a glass of wine on the table beside Genevieve, she threw her hands up. "Oh, but you forgot to check our IDs! Nina, you must be my age and I'm sure this young man is ashamed of himself for not bothering…"

Tony took the time during the waiter's denials and his father's annoyed comments to whisper to Ziva, "It's not going to get better. We don't have to stay."

She looked at him grimly. "We should."

"I'll ask you again in five minutes."

"Aw, aren't you two cute, whispering and all close." Genevieve smacked her lips after a tiny sip of wine. "Mmm. Tasty."

"Should be at five hundred a bottle," his father muttered.

Tony, spying his opportunity, settled back into his seat for at least the next five minutes and tented his fingers. "So, Genevieve, my father mentioned that you went to the Wharton School. Pretty impressive."

"Oh, that's sweet of you to say. And you, snookums." Tony noted that his father did not seem pleased when she pinched his cheek. "I didn't graduate though. In fact, I was only there for a semester. I was seeing this really nice guy, well, I _thought_ he was a nice guy, in the admissions office, and I felt very uncomfortable staying once our relationship ended. Luckily, I was hired by a nice manager at your dad's company, who mentioned what a good assistant I was to your dad. He promoted me to a position directly under him in his office and we just…fell in love!" She waved her hand, displaying a rock so large, Tony found it amazing she could lift her hand at all. "Funny how these things just happen. But you must know exactly what I'm talking about with office romances! So, Nina…"

"Ziva."

"Oh, silly me. Ziva, this Ma Sad that Tony mentioned. Is that some kind of Mexican police group?"

Tony watched Ziva carefully as she blinked twice and spoke slowly, "I'm not Mexican; I'm Israeli. Moussad is an Israeli agency."

"Oh! You must think I'm so rude! But Israeli! Wow, such a beautiful country. You know, Anthony and I were in Venice last month…"

Tony tuned Genevieve's monologue about Italy out, watching Ziva carefully as she accepted her martini from the waiter and took a long sip. He wondered how she managed it without gagging as he tried to take an equal drink from his own glass. Silence eventually fell as no one encouraged Genevieve to continue speaking and she trailed off.

It was broken a minute later when Tony's father leaned toward Ziva. "I know someone at Immigration."

"Makes it easier for him to get domestic help," Tony quipped, not liking the hard glint in his father's eye.

He didn't even glance away from Ziva. "If you'd like to have US citizenship, there are other ways."

"Dad…"

She cut him off, "Don't worry about it, Tony." His question about where she was hiding her knife was answered when her hand surreptitiously disappeared behind her back. "I'm sure it would be easier if you did not insist on couching your words. You believe that I am marrying your son to obtain US citizenship, yes?"

"I was trying not to put it so indelicately."

"Of course you were. So much more polite that way. I believe I'm going to go use the ladies' room."

Genevieve perked up, "Oh, I'll come with!"

Tony made a mental note to remind Ziva of the look on her face at some later point. Now, however… He waited until the two women had disappeared around a corner before moving to the edge of his seat and saying in an angry whisper, "What the hell is your problem?"

His father had relaxed back into his seat and considered him over his glass. "I would adjust your tone if I were you, son. I am merely looking out for your best interests. No need to throw your life away on some foreign slut."

"Don't you dare…"

"Come off it, son. You aren't marrying for love any more than I am. The only difference is, I'm not lying about it, to myself or anyone else. With that tiny little ring, it's clear she isn't marrying you for money, so that really just leaves the citizenship." He sipped his drink. "It's very simple when you think about it."

"You are the biggest…" Tony stopped and took a few deep breaths, not wanting to lose his tenuous control. Ziva had asked him to do this – of course, she had also escaped to the bathroom. Still, if she had resisted the urge to stab, he could make the same effort. He finally said, "Calling her the cleaning lady? What was that all about?"

"Well, you did mention you worked together. I just assumed the government wouldn't be letting illegals work as federal officers."

"Oh, that's rich from a guy who's marrying the hot secretary. I especially liked how you made her sound like some kind of businesswoman. Wharton School, my ass."

"At least she didn't sneak into this country on a raft made of doors!"

"Actually, the last time we came into the country, we were on a private jet! I don't know if you'll find that more impressive than the fact that I'm marrying someone who isn't interested in anything material I have to offer."

"Yes, son. Thank you for once again reminding me that you've taken a vow of poverty like some damn monk and since you haven't done anything useful with your life either, there's no need to be ashamed of marrying the cleaning lady."

Something inside Tony snapped. "You know what? It's been fun." He placed his unfinished drink on the table beside his chair and stood. "I won't invite you to my wedding if you'll do me the same favor."

"Sit down."

He was careful to keep his voice low and level. "I don't have to take orders from you."

"We both know you aren't just going to walk out."

"True. I'm gonna wait for Ziva in the foyer and _we_ are going to walk out."

His father's eyes flashed as his jaw tensed for a moment. Then he relaxed and took another sip from his drink. "You'll be back."

Deciding that demonstration would be the only way to convince his father, Tony said nothing further as he walked out of the bar.

* * *

Ziva approached the sink to wash her hands and realized that Genevieve had apparently come to the bathroom only to fix her lipstick; she'd been slathering it on since entering. Ziva turned on the tap and rubbed a gentle lather between her palms, keeping an eye on the mirror. She didn't trust the woman.

Her instinct didn't disappoint as Genevieve finally put her lipstick back in her teeny purse and said, "I'm number one in the will, you know."

"Excuse me?" Ziva met her eyes in the mirror and noticed that all of her grinning had been replaced by hawkish malevolence.

"If Anthony dies, I inherit the estate, not Tony. My lawyers have already dealt with it and it's binding. Just thought you should know before you marry him."

"Why would you think….?" Ziva paused as she understood in a flash – she was dealing with a stereotypical…an odd bit of music ran through her mind and she muttered, "Gold digger."

"_What_ did you call me?"

"Oh, I was just thinking out loud." She turned off the water and took a towel from the neatly stacked pile on the countertop. "It's your life, so live it how you want."

"I would hardly call that an apology."

"It wasn't."

Ziva couldn't help but smile as Genevieve attempted to block the exit. "If you say anything about…" All the color left her face as Ziva pulled her knife. "Please…"

"Relax. I'm not planning to hurt you." She allowed the tip of the weapon to rest on the nail of her left thumb. "But I would like to clarify one point. Well, two really. First, it's Israel, not Italy. They are very different places and you would do well to remember that. Second, I'm not marrying for money. Enjoy your dinner." She slipped her knife back into the thin sheath carefully placed along her spine as she left the bathroom. Tony's presence in the hallway came as a pleasant surprise. "I thought you were going to ask again after five minutes."

He grinned and held the door open for her, beating the maître d' to the task. "Do I really have to?"

"No." She walked outside to the valet with him, grasping his hand tightly in both of hers. As the man left to retrieve their car she whispered into Tony's ear, "I'm sorry I forced you into this."

"It's not so bad. He's sitting in the bar right now, waiting for me to come crawling back and ask about the specials. But I…"

She heard the car come around the corner before the kiss ended. "But you what?"

"I'll let you know when we get home." He kissed her again before handing her into the passenger side of the car.

"Good idea." She rested her hand on his thigh as he peeled out.


	13. Chapter 13

Tony kept his arm tight around Ziva's waist to keep her from escaping across the mattress as he tickled her ribs with his other hand. He realized he hadn't really been taking full advantage of this weakness; it certainly hadn't taken him more than one or two nights to discover it. Given the surprisingly mild fight she was putting up, he decided it might be worth it to give her a little poke in the ribs every so often, if only to get her to concede defeat. "Say it again."

"I won't keep…ooh!…repeating it all night!" She squirmed, but only succeeded in wrapping the sheet more tightly around their two bodies. He blew a raspberry on her shoulder in addition to his redoubled tickling. "Stop it!"

He sing-songed, "Not until you saaaaaaaay it."

"Fine! You were _right_!"

He didn't yield. "I was right aaaaaand?"

"You were right and I was…" Her pause gave him an excuse to attack her most sensitive spot, just above the flare of her hip. "No! Stop! I was wrong! I was _wrong_!"

He immediately desisted and wrapped both arms around her, feeling the full length of her body press against him as he held her close. "See? Now that wasn't so hard, was it?"

She looked at him critically but didn't try to extricate herself from his embrace. "I've already apologized for making you go through with the dinner. You don't have to keep rubbing it in, you know."

"I'm not rubbing it in. I just want to be sure you remember the time I was right twenty years of me being wrong from now."

She kissed his neck, working her way up his throat. "At least you know what to expect." He was stuck with his chin in the air as she stopped, her lips moving against his jaw as she said, "Twenty years sounds like a long time."

"Not too long, I hope."

Her answer wasn't an answer at all. "Hm."

"Ziva?"

"No, I wasn't thinking about us." She kissed him gently on the lips before pulling away and sitting up, leaning against the headboard. "I was just wondering how long your father's marriage is going to last, if it happens at all."

Tony rolled onto his stomach and rested his chin on Ziva's thigh. "Oh, he'll marry her. Then he'll divorce her. Then he'll find a new one, and the cycle can begin anew. It's very 'circle of life.'"

"She seems to think she's gotten him to alter his will to make her the main beneficiary." She stroked his hair with one hand while absently picking at the sheet with the other. "Gold digger is the correct term, yes?"

"Yup. And I wouldn't put too much stock in whatever she said. She's probably just confused about the prenup." He allowed his face to caress her bare flesh. "You're not worried about money, right?"

"I think we make enough to be perfectly comfortable. We're not exactly living in a refrigerator box and eating food stamps."

"You, uh, don't eat the food stamps, you use them to buy stuff. It's really not important. And I was just talking in terms of inheritance. I doubt I'm going to be seeing much from dear old dad and I just…" He met her eyes for a second and saw something that made him nervous. "Look, I feel like a jerk for bringing it up, but I want to be honest."

"Why are you so concerned about money all of a sudden?"

He blinked, understanding that Ziva's look had been mere curiosity. He pushed himself up, kissing his way up her stomach. "Sorry. I was just having a DiNozzo, Sr. moment. But, with money…trust me, my dad is at least smart enough not to get screwed as a result of a marriage." He propped himself on his elbow and looked up at her. "Well, except for the whole disappointing son thing, I guess."

He turned into her hand on the side of his face and kissed her palm as she said, "You aren't a disappointment, Tony."

"If you're a disappointment to an asshole you're actually a good guy, you mean?"

"I suppose you can put it like that."

"At least we won't have to invite them over on holidays. Poor Genevieve has no idea what she's getting into. Anyway, she didn't strike me as the brightest light on the Christmas tree." He adjusted himself into a position where he was now sitting shoulder to shoulder with Ziva to discuss an interesting issue that had just arisen in his mind. Considering her seriously, he asked, "We can have a Christmas tree, right?"

"Why not?"

"Well, if you didn't want one…" He considered the possibilities for the holidays. "Hey, if we celebrate Chanukah and Christmas, that'll mean we get_nine_ crazy nights." When she gave him bemused face instead of a reply, he fell back on instinct. "Are you hungry?"

"Starving. We skipped dinner, remember? I never even finished my drink."

"See? I'm already forgetting it ever happened. Sex-induced amnesia is a wonderful thing." He rolled back onto his stomach as he sought her chest with his lips. "In fact, we could order a pizza and you wouldn't even remember it in the morning if we…"

She interrupted, "I'm only agreeing to the second part of that plan."

"Right. No dinner, more sex."

"No pizza," she corrected, holding him back with both hands as he tried to climb on top of her. "I'll make dinner. We have chicken and we have leftover lasagna."

"Lasagna is faster."

"You can't possibly be ready yet."

He bumped his hips into her leg. "You could at least check." The pinch she administered triggered his prompt retreat, though he maintained his hold on her. "Okay, no. But…I like your lasagna."

"It _is_ one of the few ways I can get you to eat vegetables. I'll go warm that up." He grinned when she failed to get away from him. "Get off me, Tony."

"What's the magic word?"

"Please?"

"Try again."

"Tony…"

"Okay, fine." He reluctantly shifted to the side, his need for food balancing his desire for sex; her sudden uncomfortable grip on a sensitive area had also provided some encouragement. She quickly jumped out of bed. He didn't start to complain until she began putting on clothing. "Aw, don't do that."

"I've told you several times that I'm not just going to strut around naked all the time."

"But…" He groaned as she pulled on his Ohio State sweatshirt that she'd claimed as her own. "We never really decided _against_ instituting Naked Tuesdays."

"_I_ did. Besides, it's Thursday."

"This is not fair."

She tied a bow in the string at the waist of her loose pajama pants. "I don't ask you to run around naked all the time. Not that that has stopped you…"

"Oh, you love it." He grinned and threw the covers off. "See? Can't keep your eyes off me."

"I'm just wondering where a nice, purple bruise shaped like my fist would look best." The fact that she was rolling back the long sleeves of the sweatshirt was enough to induce him to cover himself defensively with a pillow. She rolled her eyes. "Yes, that should protect you."

"Nothing can penetrate my mighty fortress." He uttered a few manly grunts and she walked away. "Okay, I'll let you through. Come back to bed."

She paused at the bedroom door in all her baggy-clothed glory. "I thought you were hungry."

"True. Gimme a shout when it's ready."

He was fairly certain she'd muttered, "Unbelievable!" as she'd closed the door, but as she hadn't made it into a confrontation, it could mean only one thing – she was still horny. True, she'd threatened to hit him, but that was before he…no, it was after he'd tried his Playgirl pose. It was best that she'd shot him down; he wasn't quite ready yet. He relaxed on his back for a moment before deciding that he had enough energy to get up, at least. It had been almost an hour since he'd woken to find Ziva snuggling against him. And that had been…he glanced at the clock and found that almost three hours had passed since their abortive dinner with his father. He tried to embrace Ziva's pillow, but it wasn't quite right. He stood from the bed and grabbed his boxers off the floor, making a pit stop in the bathroom.

When he arrived in the kitchen, she was pressing numbers on the microwave. "Damn power settings…"

"Just nuke it until it's hot," he suggested, noting that she didn't even jump as he came up behind her. "Do we have any wine?"

"I don't think we finished that bottle of pinot noir from the other night."

He pushed aside a roll of paper towels beside the refrigerator and found the half-full bottle immediately. "I thought we drank more the other night."

"Hardly. If I let you drink too much, we miss a crucial step between you feeling amorous and you passing out."

He chose to ignore her barb, reaching over her head and grabbing two wineglasses from the cabinet. "Does that beep mean our dinner is ready?"

"We'll see." He winced as she stuck her thumb into the glass dish she took from the microwave. "Cold in the middle." She reset the timer and turned around. "What?"

"Nothing. I'd just prefer it if you didn't poke your fingers into hot bubbling cheese, because, much as I enjoy a nice hospital meal, I don't want one in the near future." She accepted the glass he offered her with a huff of displeasure. "What? Did I not fill it enough?"

"I just wish…we both know that, medically speaking, I've had a terrible year. Do you have to keep reminding me?" She turned back toward the microwave.

"I, uh…"

"Just drop it, Tony."

"I didn't realize it bothered you so much." He reached out and began to rub the back of her neck. "It just kinda of seems like, I don't know…"

"Like we're together now because I almost died?"

She resisted when he attempted to pull her shoulders around and make her face him. He finally gave up, wrapping his arms around her. "The last time you brought something like this up we were locked in a tiger cage and you were trying to trick me into leaving you there."

"The food is ready."

He tightened his hold, afraid of what he would see if she turned to him now. "Are you telling me that wasn't just a lie you came up with?"

"No." The conviction in her voice had a calming effect on him. She used a folded dishtowel to remove the steaming dish from the microwave, keeping her eyes down. "But I just want you to know that you don't have to take care of me." He waited until she'd placed the lasagna on the counter to grab her shoulder, but she turned without any action on his part. "I'm not with you for that."

"I never said you were."

"But you brought up money earlier, and your father…"

"My father is an asshole," he growled, suddenly understanding her insecurity. "I finally get my life together and he has to…" He ran his hands down her back, pulling her closer. "Please don't take all that…what he said was…" He found that he didn't want to come up with explanations, much less make excuses for his father's faults. He settled for the simple truth. "I love you."

She pecked his lips. "I know. Don't listen to the message on the machine."

"Message?" He made a beeline for the answering machine, much as he would have looked down into an abyss the moment someone told him not to. "From who?"

"Just erase it. It isn't worth…"

It was too late. He'd already pressed play and his father's annoyed voice came out of the speaker, "Well, Tony. I must say I was somewhat surprised by your behavior this evening. Apparently she has her claws in you fairly deep. I don't suppose that warning you or mentioning that she threatened Genevieve with a knife is going to do any good at this point. Just remember when she's done using you for her own devices, I will still be your father. And I'd just like you to know that once she's chewed you up and spit you out, I'll be open to accepting your apology."

Tony stared at the machine for a minute or more in mute rage, resentful memories of childhood and disappointment and anger flooding his mind. The clink of utensils on glass brought him back to himself enough to grab the nearest heavy object, a wooden cutting board, and begin bludgeoning the small black box. It was only Ziva's hands on his shoulders stopped him from reducing it to powder. A pit formed in his stomach as he realized he'd been picturing his father's face. He dropped the cutting board and his head. "When did he call?"

Ziva was now holding him from behind, her arms tight around his waist and her face pressed into his back. "A few minutes ago. I think you were in the bathroom. Tony, I…"

He didn't have the energy or inclination to talk about it. "Please don't."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pressured you into contacting him and then going to dinner. I…you were right. I thought that since I'd fixed things with my father…"

"Ziva, I said don't." He turned and gave her a weak smile. "Weren't we about to eat?"

"Are you all right?"

"Is it weird that I think I feel better?"

"I've often found that hitting things helps." She handed him a plate with a steaming square of lasagna on it. "But if you decide you _do_ want to talk…"

"I'll let you know," he conceded. "Not like you're going anywhere, right?"

"I might run out later to pick up a new answering machine." She looked at him carefully, as if looking for confirmation that the joke was all right.

He slid his hand under her sweatshirt, focused on the best way to forget his father's words. "I think not. I was promised more naked, and I'm holding you to it."


	14. Chapter 14

Ziva balanced herself on the back of the sofa as she stretched carefully, telling herself that the pain her thigh was just temporary morning stiffness. It would pass as soon as she got out and moving; it would have to. If it didn't… She gave a final tug on her ankle before dropping her lower leg and leaving, softly closing the door of the apartment behind her.

Tony hadn't reacted when she'd kissed his forehead and she hadn't woken him, given his aversion to the hour. This was the second day in a row she'd been up so early in weeks. A disappointing thirty-minute jog had been her only achievement the previous day, and she wanted to add another fifteen minutes at the very least, and at a faster pace. She needed more time to sort out her thoughts alone and pain wasn't something that was going to hold her back. She took a deep breath of chilly morning air as she walked out the front door of the building.

The scenery passed slower than she remembered, slower even than the full Saturday spent on the sofa with Tony, watching him as he watched football all day. College football. She didn't quite understand the distinction, but it seemed to be an important one. Other than his interaction with the television, Tony had been very quiet, speaking to her about only mundane topics and ignoring any question she asked not directly related to the multiple games that had been played throughout the day. His libido had been then only thing active, but even _that_ had been quiet. She picked up her pace as she came to the end of the block.

A light drizzle began to fall just as she felt sweat begin to break out on her forehead. She had known it would take him some time to discuss what had happened with his father. Although she had yet to mention it, she suspected that the message left on the machine had been intended to wound her as much as Tony and, to her surprise, it had. She had made the decision to say nothing on the subject of her own feelings; Tony needed her strong right now. She couldn't help but feel an obligation to return the support he had given her – an obligation born of love that she assumed she would have felt regardless of previous events, but an obligation nonetheless. As his main emotional support seemed to be derived from sex, she knew she would have to get him talking soon. Her muscles warmed as she jogged in place at a crosswalk, waiting for the lights to change.

The route she continued on was familiar, or had become so since she'd moved in with Tony. So many things had. A fellow runner mistook her smile for a greeting and grunted a hello as he passed. She checked in with her body rather than checking her watch, finding that it was far to early to make a loop. The rain began to fall in earnest as she focused her thoughts again.

An hour after leaving, she jogged up the hall on her return journey with only the slightest hitch in her step. It wasn't a bad result for her second run in…she didn't want to think about how long it had been. She'd even doubled her longevity from the previous day. She removed the key from her pocket and slid it into the lock. Before she could turn it, the door swung open on Tony's concerned face. "There you are!"

She kicked off her sneakers and wiped her hand up her forehead, pushing moisture back into her wet hair. She was going to wash it out in a few minutes anyway. "I went for a run."

"Hence the spandex and sweat."

"A lot of it is rainwater."

He followed too closely at her heels as she walked down the hall. When she turned to ask him what he was doing, his expression abruptly changed. His grin was too big. Artificial. "You still need a shower."

"Yes." When he leered she added, "By myself."

"That's no fun."

"The basic premise of the shower is not 'fun.'" She held her hand under the stream of water to make sure it was on its way to heating up before beginning to strip.

"You're doing a terrible job of discouraging me if you…Ziva!" The hands that suddenly grabbed her leg were tender, concerned. "You're bleeding."

"It's nothing." She flipped the lid of the toilet seat down and sat, propping her foot against the tub in order to inspect the scrape on her left knee, extending down her shin. She frowned. "Okay, so maybe it's something. I wasn't paying close enough attention and slipped on a grate." She cocked her head as Tony knelt and looked at the abrasion. "I didn't even tear my pants."

"You didn't feel this?"

"Of course I did. I just did not think it was this dramatic."

"Haven't you learned by now?" He stood, only to lean over and kiss her deeply. "Everything is dramatic with us." He reached across her to grab one of the hand towels.

"Don't use that."

"You just want to let it drip dry and crust over with a nice scab? You should put some antibiotic stuff on it and giant band-aids."

She stood and pushed past him, dropping her sports bra on the floor beside her discarded pants and socks as she stepped into the tub. "It will get clean in the shower. You can play doctor once I get out."

She had a strange impulse to cover herself with her hands as his head appeared around the curtain and he looked her up and down. "Reeee-lay?"

"What did I say?"

"If I explain, I'll sound like a pervert. Let's just say you can come straight to bed without bothering to get dressed once we've fixed your leg."

"Are you ever not in the mood?" she muttered, allowing the hot water to soak her hair and ignoring his continued presence. He goosed her when she turned to pick up her shampoo bottle. "Tony!"

He grinned. "Did that answer your question?"

"It was a rhetorical question." She focused on not reacting when the suds rinsed from her hair stung her leg, adding to the unpleasant sensation of hot water running over the open wound. Tony's gaze felt heavy on her, heavier than any touch. She kept her eyes closed, feeling for her conditioner, and said, "I wouldn't just leave you."

The shower curtain rustled as he stepped back. "Who said you would?"

"You were waiting at the door for me."

"Just think of me as your faithful, uh, spaniel."

"It's 6:30 in the morning."

"Right. Just enough time to get dressed and get to work."

"It's Sunday."

"We get called in on Sundays sometimes."

"We are not on call this weekend." With her eyes still closed, she tipped her head back to rinse her hair again. The curtain rustled again and Tony was suddenly embracing her tightly, his face buried in her neck. She ran her hands through her hair a final time to ensure that all the lather was gone before settling her arms around his shoulders. She repeated her earlier sentiment, "I would not leave you."

"I know." His voice was slightly distorted, as he was speaking directly to her skin. "But I still woke up and found you gone. And I knew you were probably out running because yesterday you went and came back before I even woke up. I looked in the hall closet and saw your sneakers were gone and your necklace was sitting on your nightstand but there was no note for me, so I knew that you'd left it there like you always do when you run." He paused and took a deep breath. "I trust you, but that doesn't mean you…" He finally looked up. "You're my whole family now."

She felt the weight in his gaze again. "Tony…"

"Please, I need to…I don't know how to say this without…"

"Whatever it is, you can tell me."

"I don't want to hurt you."

She stroked his damp hair and smiled encouragingly. "You don't have to ask my permission to call him. He's your father."

"What? I don't want to talk to him." Tony took half a step back before changing his mind and holding her close again. "Maybe we could get out of the shower before we talk about this?"

She kissed the end of his chin, accepting his attempt to lighten the mood. "You started it. Just give me a minute to finish up."

He was in his loose pants and t-shirt a few minutes later when she sat back on the toilet cover, wrapped in a towel. He knelt and daubed a paper towel on her scrape. "Doesn't look quite as bad now. I think a few regular size band-aids should do it." They remained quiet as she watched him carefully apply ointment and struggle with the paper wrappers of the band-aids. He finally pressed down on the last adhesive section with a flourish. "I dare any licensed medical professional to do better."

"Thank you." She accepted the hand he offered as he pulled her into a standing position. "Are you ready to talk now?"

"Nope."

"Tony…"

"Get dressed. I already made some coffee. Meet you in the living room?"

She waited until he'd closed the door behind him to drop her towel, picking up the long-sleeve t-shirt he'd been wearing when he'd opened the front door earlier. It still smelled like fabric softener when she pulled it over her head, much to her disappointment; he apparently hadn't been up waiting for her for very long. His old college sweatshirt carried the scent she was seeking and she put that on too. Digging a pair of flannel pajama pants out of her bottom drawer, she finished dressing and twisted her hair into a towel turban as she walked down the hall.

Tony nearly doused her with the two steaming cups of coffee he was carrying as he exited the kitchen. "Hey! Don't _do_ that!"

"Do what? Walk down the hall?"

"Sneak down the hall. I'm gonna make you start wearing a bell or something." He immediately backed up a few steps. "Kidding. Just kidding."

"Did I say anything?"

"You didn't have to." He handed her a cup of coffee and followed her to the sofa. "Oh, hey. Do you want to go to the Ravens game today?"

Her coffee cup halted halfway to her mouth. There was evasive and then there was Tony. "I thought we were going to…"

"What else is there to say? He asked me to choose and I chose."

"You shouldn't have had to."

He shrugged. "I don't regret it."

"So that whole thing about me being your only family now…?"

"I was being dramatic. Like I said…" He chuckled, but there was no amusement in it. "It's just a weird thing. It's not like I spent that much time with him, or on the phone with him or whatever. I just…now that I know I won't be…it's weird, is all."

"He may change his mind."

"Even if he does, he won't make the effort. That would be like admitting he was wrong. Look, Ziva, I've been living without him for a long time." He reached out and twirled a lock of hair that had escaped her towel around his finger. "_You_, on the other hand…"

"Yes, who would you shower with?"

"The shower would get pretty lonely." He placed his cup on the coffee table before taking hers as well. She decided one more time wouldn't hurt as he gently pushed her onto her back, stretching out on top of her on the sofa.

To her surprise, the ringing telephone was enough to distract Tony a few minutes later. His hand was out from under her shirt and seizing the phone on the end table almost before she knew what was happening. "Hello? Charley! Hey, yeah, I got distracted," he winked at Ziva and she wondered if a well-placed knee was in order. He continued to smile as he angled the phone down and asked her, "Football game? Yeah?"

"Today?"

"Yeah. M&T Bank Stadium in Baltimore. Ravens and Bengals. At one."

She could tell that no would not be an acceptable answer. "Okay."

"Excellent." He kissed her quickly before turning his attention back to the phone, "Charley, yeah. We'll be there. Gate D? Is that by…yeah, right. 12:30? See you there, man!" He pressed 'end' and dropped the phone on the floor. "Now…where were we?"

She pushed his hands away. "You were about to explain to me what I've just agreed to."

"Oh, right. Well, I was only up to realize you weren't here because Charley – I worked with him in Baltimore – called to ask if I wanted two tickets to the Ravens today, and I told him I'd have to ask you and he said to call him back in an hour to let him know and I forgot because…well…" He pressed his hips into her.

She frowned, torn between annoyance and desire. "I believe you expressed your preference for football. I think you should get off me now."

"Football isn't for another few hours…"


	15. Chapter 15

Tony groaned with the rest of the crowd as the referee signaled another Ravens false start. Being surrounded by seventy thousand or so screaming fans was exactly what he needed after the disconcertingly quiet drive to Baltimore. Good thing he hadn't been offered tickets to an Eagles game; Ziva hadn't been asking questions, but any additional time in her silent presence would likely have cracked him. He knew that she wanted to wait and she would probably just tell him to be patient for a little while until he stopped freaking out about what had happened with his father and… He groaned again and glanced at her, wondering if she could somehow see what he was thinking, but she shrugged, her attention focused on the field. "Why is everyone so upset that nothing happened?"

"Nothing? You call that nothing!" Charley Reed, Tony's former partner at BPD, had a vein sticking out so far on his forehead he looked like he was about to sprout a horn. "That goddamn tackle can't stay still to save his goddamn life!"

"I thought tackling involved moving?"

Tony sat up straight as Charley, still looking apoplectic, leaned over to get a better look at Ziva. Tony was about to say something when the older man burst out laughing. "At least your tryin' sweetheart! My ex-wife couldn't tell the difference between the offense and the defense, and I got these damn season tickets when these bums moved here in '96!" He reached across to clink plastic cups with Ziva before downing the rest of his beer in a gulp.

Tony slipped his arm around Ziva's shoulders, relaxing in his seat and sipping his own beer as the first quarter ended. Football and catching up were great distractions. He turned to Charley. "How is Patty?"

"Ah, she's fine, I guess. Shacked up with some creep lawyer. They're gettin' married in the spring. I shouldn't complain though – he's got Sarah and Chucky in some fancy private school and they like him all right. They deserve a dad who can be there at night, make it to their school plays and soccer games…" He sniffed, barely adding his boo to the chorus of fans displeased with the replays of first quarter highlights, which consisted of two Cincinnati touchdowns and a Baltimore fumble.

"Don't tell me, you've got him talking about the kids!"

Tony accepted a cardboard tray of fresh beers over Charley's head from Rita, Charley's girlfriend, who had just bulldozed her way back down the row. "Sorry, Rita, I was just curious."

"Don't apologize. You know them, you get to ask. I miss anything good?"

"The quarter ended," Ziva suggested.

"Good thing," Charley said. "Maybe those cretins can get off their asses and score some goddamn points before halftime."

Rita patted his head as downed nearly all of his new beer in a single gulp and winked at Tony. "Are you two kids thinking about little ones?"

He sputtered. Ziva simply inserted a new cup into an empty one and replied for him, "We have not decided."

"Yeah, how 'bout you give them a chance to get married first, hey?" Charley said, giving Rita's butt a healthy smack.

"Oh, you're one to talk about getting married. That's right, stare into your nachos. I'm sure they have the answer." She sat down, took the last beer from the tray that was handed back to her and rested her head on her hand. "This one keeps telling me to be patient. Yeah, right, because if DiNozzo is settling down, I haven't been patient long enough!"

Tony smiled, not looking at Ziva – they were getting into dangerous territory. "You trying to say something, Rita?"

"It's a compliment to you! Well, more to you, Ziva. Just between you and me…" Tony exchanged a look with Charley, as Rita was shouting over both of them to talk to Ziva. "…I don't think I've ever seen this guy so…"

"Purple?"

"Hey!" Tony glanced down at the Ed Reed jersey he'd purchased at the pro shop before the game.

Rita ignored him. "No, he's…content. He's not trying too hard, he's not putting on some big show for you. He's just being himself. When I was first going out with this knucklehead," she ruffled Charley's thinning hair, "I remember DiNozzo going a million miles a minute at the bar, trying to pick up any woman who walked in. How'd you break him of that?"

"It took a lot of whipping," Ziva answered without missing a beat. "Sometimes I have to use the handcuffs, too."

Tony swallowed hard, loudly saying, "She's kidding."

"Don't be so shy! I think it's great to have a little spice in the bedroom. This one," Rita jerked her thumb at Charley, "isn't interested in anything too exciting. I'd be a little more forward about that if it weren't for my back. But you're young. Have as much fun as you can before things stop bending certain ways."

"Jesus, woman!" Charley shouted to be heard over the swell of noise from the crowd as the teams set up again on the field. "You're the last person they need advice from!"

"What? I'm just offering the wisdom of years and experience!" She leaned over him so she could lower her voice as she spoke to Tony and Ziva. "Would it be too personal if I asked when was the last time you had sex?"

Tony snorted into his beer, wondering if it would be inappropriate to display the fresh rug burns on his back and…yeah, totally inappropriate. He had the sudden sensation that Ziva was about to push him to the hard concrete of the stadium floor as she'd done in their living room earlier that day, but she was just leaning over him to answer Rita, "This morning. Right after we decided to come to the game, in fact."

"Yeah, distracted, that explains it," Charley muttered, nevertheless giving Tony a light congratulatory punch in the arm. A sudden flurry of activity on the field ended the conversation.

At halftime, Tony waited until Charley and Rita had run to the bathrooms, with promises of returning with popcorn and more beer, to whisper into Ziva's ear, "What was all that about last quarter?"

"All what?"

"The last time we had sex? Since when do you share information so freely?"

She shrugged. "She asked. You certainly have some colorful friends."

"I told you, Charley used to be my partner. And he and Rita have been together for…well, I don't know how long."

"Are they planning to get married?"

"They're happy together. Well, happy-ish. Does it matter that much?"

Ziva frowned and looked at him critically. "I think I may need to use the ladies' room. I'll be back."

Tony pressed his lips together, watching her pick her way down the crowded aisle. Something had just gone very wrong. He stood and stared down at the twenty-yard line, his brain working furiously to interpret the possibilities.

People squawked with annoyance as he began shoving past them in an attempt to catch Ziva. He thought he could see her disappearing into the entrance to the concourse and increased his pace as best he could on the crowded steps. He'd lost her completely by the time he came face to face with two very large men carrying two very large hotdogs each. The taller of the two threatened to do something involving ketchup and Tony's new jersey, but apparently didn't want to disrespect the team. Or something. Tony was already following the arrow directing him toward the women's room.

He found Ziva near the end of the extensive line, inspecting her fingernails. She raised an eyebrow when he stood next to her. She didn't speak until the line moved a step forward. "I think you'd have better luck at the men's room."

He swallowed hard and turned his head. "Did you think I was talking about us?"

"It's fine. We can just live together. Now we don't have to have any awkward conversations about me not changing my last name."

"We already had that conversation and I know you won't. But I just meant…after everything that went on with my dad and all his stupid questions and doubts and… I _don't_ want to wait."

"What are you…?"

He took her hand and squeezed it. "I want to marry you now."

Her smile curled up one side of her lips. "Tony, I'm in line for the bathroom."

The woman behind her piped up, "You can hold it. He's a catch, honey."

"Uh, thanks." He turned his attention back to Ziva. "Not right this minute, but soon. I don't want to wake up one day five years from now and…and…"

"Can we perhaps talk about this tonight?"

He looked around and saw that all the women in the immediate vicinity were a rapt audience. "Yes. We'll go to a nice restaurant I know where I can get the lobster and you can make faces at it." He kissed Ziva's cheek and took off down the concourse, only to return a few moments later. "Do you remember where our seats are?"


	16. Chapter 16

Ziva staggered under Tony's weight as she supported his lurching frame on the way across the wide, empty parking lot. After a surprise comeback victory for the Ravens, she had allowed herself to be persuaded to go to one of Charley and Rita's favorite bars for a drink before dinner. One drink had turned into two, two had turned into a running tab, and the tab had become a surprisingly large bill, closed out as the sun went down, leaving her with a caffeine rush from all the diet cola she'd consumed and a big lump of drunken fiancé to drag home. He'd been perfectly content with his damn vodka martinis from the second he'd heard her go non-alcoholic.

She transferred his arm to the roof of the car as they arrived so she could find her keys. In the few moments it took her to dig them out of the bottom of her purse he managed to slide to the ground. "You look tall."

"You look drunk."

"Tushy."

His unsuccessful grab for her ass restrained her instinct to correct his butchering of 'touché.' She unlocked the door and opened it, pointing at the passenger seat. "Get in."

"I wanna drive…uhgh…" He stood, using the car to prop himself up. He swayed for a moment before staggering toward his seat. "No, you can drive."

She snorted as she slammed the door. Thirty minutes. She could make it home in thirty minutes if the traffic wasn't bad. If she'd survived the past few hours with inebriated Tony, she could last another…she let out a scream of exasperation and kicked an unsuspecting empty soda can halfway across the lot. Revenge could be a viable solution; someone was going to have the most unpleasant hangover ever.

When she got to her own door, she was greeted with a burst of off-key song, "Smella wine n' cheap perfume…"

"Please shut up."

He leaned over and rested his head on her shoulder, smiling at her. "Well, leas' you said pleeeeease. Can I lissen to the radio?"

"Not too loud." She started the car and shifted into first, accelerating as she drove straight across the empty parking lot. "Did you fasten your seatbelt?"

"Yes, Ma'am." He finally found the tuner for the radio after turning the emergency flashers on and off several times. She bit her tongue, knowing that yelling at him right now would be worthless – he'd most likely misunderstand her frustration and just try to appease her by changing the radio station to something he thought she'd like. He increased the volume as he found a clear signal and came dangerously close to smacking her in the face with an overly exuberant gesture as she stopped at the parking lot's exit. "Aw, this…this is…y'know…the Boss!"

In spite of the fact that there was no traffic, she hesitated, an odd picture of a silver-haired man singing about starting a fire without a spark filling her imagination. "Gibbs?"

Tony drummed his hands on the dashboard. "No! Bruce!"

She slowed at a yellow light, needing a moment to get her bearings. "Who is Bruce?"

"The shark in _Jaws_!"

"The shark sang?" She surrendered to the GPS system and took the right it recommended. "I thought that was a serious horror movie?"

"It _was_. Bruce Springsteen the rock star! But he's not Jewish."

"So?" She turned onto the highway, quickly picking up speed until she was going well over eighty. She would have like to have gone faster, but she had left her badge locked up in the safe at home.

"Adam Sandler…uh…what?" The song had ended and Tony was massaging her thigh as the DJs babbled. He quickly found a new train, asking, "When we get home wanna…?"

"No." She shoved away the hand that had slid up.

"Aw, c'mon."

"Given how much you've had to drink, I doubt it's a realistic option, but even if you could get it up, I would still be saying no."

"You mad?"

"Yes."

"How come?"

"What difference does it make?"

"Hey, I care when you're mad, 'cause that means you're not happy, 'n I like makin' you happy."

She pushed his hand away again, annoyed that the day had come to this. All through the second half of the football game she'd been anticipating some time alone with him so she could explain in no uncertain terms that she wouldn't marry him immediately just to offend his father. If she had foreseen the aftereffects of the disastrous dinner with him, she wouldn't have pressed for it. There was no changing the past, however, and now she was contending with an insecure Tony who seemed to think they could solve everything with a quick marriage. Or by getting drunk enough to stop thinking about anything. She sighed. "You promised me a nice dinner and a serious conversation."

"S'when d'you like seee-rious conversations?"

"Since you told me you want to get married now."

"Yeah!" He thumped the dashboard, changing the radio to loud static, which he then shouted over, "Les fly to Vegas!"

"Tony…"

"Vegas, baby! Vegas!" His goofy grin suddenly dropped off his face, his right hand scrabbling on the door. "Uh oh."

Ziva clenched her jaw, not bothering to pull over as he threw up out the open window. It took all of her control to remain silent for the rest of the drive home. She found some bass-heavy music on the radio and turned off her thought process as best she could. For his part, Tony uttered nothing apart from an occasional moan and additional vomit-related noises out the window. He was dozing by the time she parked outside their apartment.

She groaned with disgust when she saw that not all the regurgitated material had hit the asphalt; a large v-shaped pattern of semi-dried liquid and tiny flecks of…she looked away before she could analyze the crud. "Crud?" she questioned out loud.

"Uuhgh…" Tony answered, opening his door and hanging out, remaining upright only with the aid of his seatbelt. "Lil' help?"

"I should just let you sleep in the street." In spite of her wish to cross her arms over her chest and allow him to fall on his face, she reached out to support him the moment he unbuckled his seatbelt. "Let's get upstairs."

He giggled, wrapping an arm loosely around her. "Yeah, bedtime!" With one arm around his waist and the other holding his arm over her shoulders, she was unable to push his groping free hand away as they made their way to the elevator. He swayed precariously on the threshold as she unlocked the door, but managed a shambling trot to the bathroom.

He was resting his head on his forearms, folded on the toilet seat, when she looked in on him a few moments later. "Are you going to be all right in here?"

He groaned without lifting his head.

"I'm going to go clean up the car."

"I puked in the car?" She couldn't be sure if the terror in his eyes when he looked up was a result of his love for the car or his fear of what she might do to him.

In a moment of weakness, she decided to relieve him of all anxiety. "It's just on the outside and it should come off with some water."

"Uh." He dropped his head again and she closed the door on the sound of retching.

By the time she'd finished washing the side of the car ten minutes later, she was no longer feeling magnanimous – probably due to the combination of cold and vomit. She washed her hands in the kitchen sink, wondering if seeing Tony miserable at work with his hangover the next day would be enough.

When she checked on him, he had made his way from the bathroom to the bed. It appeared that he'd tried to undress but had forgotten to remove his shoes, so he was now lying on his back wearing nothing but his pants and boxers trapped around his ankles. Doing something to punish him now would be so easy, but how would she enjoy his suffering if he were unconscious? She yanked off his shoes and clothes with little concern for waking him; he snored on with no acknowledgement of her thoughtfulness, even when she threw a blanket over him.

Ziva walked back to the living room and turned on the television, settling on a news channel to drown out her vicious impulses. Feeling guilty about wanting him to suffer wasn't proving enough to quash her desire to see him…squirm at the very least. She changed the channel to a documentary on mountain gorillas. She wouldn't do anything to hurt or publicly humiliate him, just something to let him know that she was displeased. She folded her legs underneath her body and tried to concentrate on the television.

When the inactivity became too oppressive, she retreated to the kitchen. As she put away the clean dishes, she knocked over a small bottle in one of the cabinets. The red food coloring stained her fingers as she picked it up and found the cap loose. She placed it on the countertop as she tried to scrub the color off her two fingertips. After a few minutes, only light pinkish marks remained.

She returned to the sofa, paying more attention to her fingers than the program. She had a wonderful idea – well, an idea _she_ found wonderful, anyway. Something private yet dramatic that would leave no question about how she felt about… She sank into the cushions, unsure about her anger anymore. Why was she even taking revenge? Because he wanted to get married? Of course, it was for the wrong reasons at the moment, but she couldn't justify…unless she considered the day's strange events…and the vomit on her car…

The food coloring sat on the kitchen counter, continuing to tempt her.

* * *

Tony opened his eyes slowly, attempting to limit the light exposure as much as possible. The pain pounding against the sides of his skull was bad enough to tell him that he'd be needing sunglasses. Gibbs wouldn't notice if he sat at his desk wearing sunglasses all day, right? The thunderous sound of birds chirping outside the window indicated that earplugs might be worth considering as well. He groaned as he rolled onto his stomach. The clock on his left indicated that he had just under an hour to decide whether a sick day was in order.

A few minutes before he had to make a decision, he heard the bedroom door open. Without committing the painful act of opening his eyes, he softly said, "Ziva?"

She gently kissed his cheek and whispered, "How do you feel?"

"Terrible."

He could feel her hand softly stroking his hair. "Maybe you should call out today."

He made the mistake of opening his eyes wide to look at her; she seemed genuinely concerned in the microseconds he managed to keep them open. Concerned and sweaty. "You'll cover for me?"

"Of course. I think you've been punished enough."

"I don't deserve you." He flipped onto his back and caught his head between his hands, giving it a good squeeze to make sure the bones weren't actually pulsing before squinting carefully. "And I'm sorry about yesterday."

"Which part?"

"Uh…" He hunted around his spotty memory, trying to pick out the worst offense. He finally said, "The whole thing. I drank way too much and I should have stopped when you suggested it."

"And what about what you said?"

"I'm sorry, but I don't even remember getting home last night. I'm really sorry if I said something…"

"This was at the game. Halftime, in fact…" She trailed off, looking at him expectantly.

The memory was hard to locate, but once he found it, it was crystal clear. "Wedding."

"Wedding," she repeated, looking less compassionate than she had a few moments before. "We're not getting married."

He shot into a sitting position, his head screaming in protest and his stomach giving a nauseous lurch just for good measure. "No! You…you…you took the ring!"

"Relax, Tony!" She trapped his cheeks between her hands. "I meant that we aren't getting married right away just to prove something to your father."

He blinked. "I never said…"

"You didn't have to. Why don't we say next spring?"

"Uh…" He was deprived of the wherewithal to form any argument against such a plan, so he agreed, "Yeah. Good."

"Excellent. I'll be in the shower."

"Right." He sank back into his pillow as Ziva shed her running clothes on the way to the bathroom. His confirmation that he was too sick to go to work came when he couldn't keep his eyes open to watch the whole show. When she reentered the bedroom some time later, wrapped in a towel, he made the effort to open his eyes again and say, "I think I'm gonna stay home."

"I'll let Gibbs know."

"You're not even gonna make me call in?"

"So Gibbs can figure out you have a hangover and order you to come in?" She dropped her towel on the floor and began to dress. "I'd prefer to come up with a little white lie and come home to find you miraculously cured than suffer through your moaning all day."

"Your concern for me is heartwarming."

"Just go back to sleep."

"'Kay." He dozed on and off after she left, checking the clock every so often and waiting for the headache and nausea to dissipate. He was still in lying in bed just after one when his cell phone rang. He risked answering it after a peek at the caller ID. "Ziva?"

"Hey. Feeling any better?"

"Yeah, actually. I might get out of bed soon."

"You haven't been up? Not even to go to the bathroom or anything?"

He rubbed his stomach, which was finally feeling settled. "Are you implying that you think I threw up on the rug or something?"

"No. I just…never mind. I was just wondering how you were feeling."

"Well, better, thanks. How are things at work?"

"Boring. McGee and I are about to go get some lunch. I should be home around five."

"All right. See you then." After a beat he added, "Love you."

"You too. Bye."

Tony took a deep breath and dropped his phone on the nightstand. He swung his legs over the side of the mattress as he sat up, giving himself a moment to get accustomed to the new position. Suffering no ill effects, he rose and made his way slowly to the bathroom. Propping up the seat, he stood over the toilet, aiming by feel and smiling as the familiar sound of running water hit his ears without assaulting them. He was even starting to feel like he'd be able to keep something down without immediately gagging. It wasn't until he looked down that he began to feel sick to his stomach again.

* * *

Ducky leaned toward the lightbox, carefully inspecting the radiograph for any anomalies. There was something strange in the angle of the fracture, he was sure of it, but how could he be expected to concentrate under these conditions? "Mr. Palmer, do handle that infernal telephone!"

"Yes, Doctor." Ducky glanced over his shoulder as he picked up the receiver. "Yes, this is Jimmy Palmer in Autopsy. Hello? Hello?" He gave a groan of exasperation as he dropped the receiver. "Another hang up. Should we talk to someone about a trace?"

"Try not to be so dramatic, Mr. Palmer. The trick with dealing with such pranksters is…" Ducky picked up the phone as it rang again. "What do you think you're playing at, sir? Are you aware that this is a federal agency and we could have you…"

"Ducky! Finally!"

"Why, To…"

"Don't say my name!" Tony interrupted. "I'm out sick today."

"Yes, so I heard. Has it been you calling my line and hanging up?"

"Sorry. I've got a little problem and I need a, uh, medical opinion."

"Of course. Something regarding your illness?"

"I…uh…don't know."

"Really, my boy, I can't help you if you won't describe your symptoms."

"Are you alone? Can you send Jimmy away if he's there?"

"Very well." Ducky lowered the receiver and called across the room. "Mr. Palmer, why don't you go out and fetch us some cold beverages!"

"Oh, I'm all set, Doctor, but thanks for…"

"It was more than a suggestion."

"Oh, right. I'll just…go up to the vending machine. I mean…the convenience store?"

"Very good." Ducky waited until the doors swooshed closed behind his assistant before turning his attention back to the telephone. "Now…"

Tony began speaking very quickly in a panicked tone, "It's red! I was in the bathroom and I was peeing and I looked down and see that it's _red_!"

"Tony, this is serious!" Ducky's mind raced through all the possibilities, from a simple infection to kidney stones to cancer. "You need to seek medical attention immediately. Bloody urine can be a symptom of…"

"Not the problem. My pee is yellow. My pee is fine."

"I'm afraid I don't follow."

"Little Tony looks like he's blushing!"

"What do you mean?"

"My dick is bright red!" Tony shouted. "Please tell me it isn't going to fall off or something!"

"Calm down, now. When did you first notice this?"

"I told you, when I was peeing and I looked down!"

"But you didn't have any swelling or pain before this?"

"I don't have swelling or pain now! It's just all red!"

"Does it…well, does it feel warm?"

"It feels…" Ducky shook his head as Tony took a longer pause than necessary. "It feels fine. Normal. It's just red."

"And this is your only complaint?"

"Other than a raging hangover? Yeah. Any idea what it could be?"

Ducky considered the most likely possibilities. "Why don't I call you back in a moment? I need to…consult some sources."

"Whatever you need to do…just…don't take too long, okay?"

"Don't fret, Anthony. I'm sure we'll have this sorted out soon." As soon as he hung up on Tony, he dialed another number.

The line connected on the second ring. "David."

"Ziva, I need…"

"Ducky! McGee and I are picking up lunch, can we get you anything?"

"In a moment. I need to ask you if you noticed anything amiss with Tony today."

"Why?"

"Well, he's just called me with a singular complaint. Did he mention it to you this morning, perhaps?"

Ziva, much to his surprise, burst out laughing. "He _called_ you? For medical advice? Oh, this is too good."

He exhaled loudly. "So you know what's ailing Tony?"

"I left the food coloring right on the kitchen counter!"

Ducky understood in a flash and wondered if it would be considered rude to simply hang up. "Food coloring? May I ask what inspired such a creative, er…"

"Punishment?"

"If that's what you're calling it, yes."

Ziva was still laughing. "He has a bad hangover today, so he was pretty out of it last night. I just thought he deserved…I don't want to get into the whole thing, but…when you speak to him, can you claim the redness is somehow related to alcohol consumption?"

* * *

McGee pressed his lips together, not sure that he really wanted to ask Ziva what was so funny as they waited for their order at the counter of a deli they frequented near the office. She finished placing an additional order from Ducky with the waitress before turning to him, a smile a mile wide still on her face. He crumbled. "Okay, I have to know."

"How much have you put together?"

"Um, just that Tony has a hangover and you did…something involving food coloring."

"Tim, would you freak out if your penis suddenly turned red?"

He tensed his thighs together and covered himself protectively. "Excuse me?"

"Forget it."

"I can't. It's already burned itself into my brain."

She winked and sipped her water. "Imagine how Tony must feel."


	17. Chapter 17

Tony pouted, but didn't try to move or push away Ziva's roaming hands. It had been three days since the _incident_ and after diligent rubbing with soap by both Ziva and himself (all in the interest of removing the color, of course), he was back to normal, aside from a new inability to fall asleep until he was sure she was sleeping. Still, things were fine at home; it was at work that he got sulky and annoyed. He could have handled the private indignity and insomnia, but the comments in the office had really put him over the edge. Sure, Gibbs either didn't know or wasn't saying anything and McGee seemed reluctant to bring it up, but Ducky was doing this thing where he'd grin and shake his head with a little chuckle. And Abby…Abby had been far more interested than Tony could have been comfortable with, given the circumstances. And Ziva hadn't exactly discouraged her.

When he continued to ignore her, Ziva flicked the emergency stop switch, halting the elevator with a jarring jolt. He raised an eyebrow when she stepped directly in front of him, her hands still surprisingly active. She paused as she allowed her backpack to fall to the floor. "Why can't you just let it go when we're here? You clearly don't have any problem when we're home."

"Things are, uh, different at home." He glanced down at her legs, having second thoughts about finally being successful in his plea for her to wear a skirt to work.

She gently tightened the knot of his tie, allowing her hands to caress his chest through his shirt as she smoothed it all the way down. "You can't stay angry at me forever."

"And what would you like me to forgive first?"

"First?" Her fingers dropped from his belt buckle, where they had been fiddling mercilessly.

He masked his disappointment with some genuine irritation. "Well, let's see…you not only hit me where you knew it would hurt the most…"

"I did not hit you!" she interrupted in protest.

"Figure of speech. You knew how much it would freak me out to look down and see," he paused, searching for the word that would describe her malicious crime without forcing him to state it outright and remind himself of the traumatic experience of seeing…"_that_!"

"What is it with men and their penises?" Her continued lack of repentance was almost more upsetting than the original…well, it was upsetting, anyway. "If you want me to apologize for taking advantage of you while you were sleeping, fine, but you're the one who brought it to the attention of the office."

"I only told Ducky!"

"I left the food coloring right on the kitchen counter! And I fully expected that I would be your first call."

He opened and closed his mouth a few times, sensing that he was about to tread into dangerous territory. She was going to turn whatever he said against him and make him feel bad about something that had been done to him in the first place. He swallowed the indignity, saying, "The only reason I didn't call you first was because I was worried. I thought maybe I had some kind of infection that I gave you and I wanted to be able to tell you that it wasn't something we needed to worry about before I told you and you started, uh, worrying."

She raised an eyebrow. "You really expect me to believe that I was your fist concern?"

"Well…" He kissed her lips softly, not wanting to descend into the B-movie schmaltz he could feel coming on. He settled for the kiss and brief nuzzle, leaving the passionate confession that she was the most important person in the world to him on the cutting room floor and opting for a shift to the safer sarcastic. "Y'know, I wouldn't even still be mad about that if you hadn't told the whole team about it."

"You're the one who called Ducky. And the only reason I told McGee was because Ducky called me to ask about your symptoms. I couldn't just laugh that hard and not tell him what was so funny. That would be rude!"

"You're kidding, right?"

"And McGee was the one who told Abby, and hasn't she been the only one really giving you a hard time about this?"

"Again, are you kidding?"

She sighed but didn't try to stop him as he slipped his hands under the hem of her shirt, instead staring into his eyes. "Tony, I'm sorry dyed you red – even though you absolutely deserved it." She broke eye contact to check her watch just before the critical moment in which he would have pushed her against the elevator wall and gone for it, damn Gibbs yelling at them for being late. "Now can we fix it with hot elevator sex or not?"

He blinked as he wondered, not for the first time, if mind reading were a required Moussad training. "Really? Because that is _exactly_ what I…"

"Yes," she interrupted. "But it's going to have to be later, because we've been standing in this elevator for much too long. For the moment, anyway."

He forgot any argument about damning Gibbs, too excited about what Ziva was promising him. "Uh, so…when?"

She flicked the switch to restart the elevator. "As soon as we get the chance."

Tony spent the entire morning waiting for that chance, staring at Ziva across the bullpen. He was starting to feel as if salvation would never come when Gibbs growled, "McGee! With me! You two check in with Abby and see if she's got anything."

Tony jumped out of his seat the second Gibbs and McGee disappeared on their way to interrogate…someone about…something. Were they on a case? Whatever. He parked himself on Ziva's desk. "So…we should probably go to the lab."

She smiled with artificial sweetness. "Won't Abby call when she had something?"

He went back to his old standby – pouting. "You promised."

"I did." She stood and pressed closer than necessary when she passed him. He followed, clenching his jaw tightly to prevent it from hanging open as he trailed her casual saunter to the back hallway.

"Did you plan this? Is this why you wore a skirt today?"

"No. But it is why you'll find my underwear in the top drawer of my desk."

He pressed the close door button so vigorously he was afraid they'd be stuck in the elevator indefinitely. As he watched Ziva hike up her skirt before the doors had fully closed, he decided he didn't care.

* * *

Abby tapped her foot impatiently and drummed a beat against the file folder she was holding. She added a few head bobs as she realized that she was banging out the rhythm of her latest favorite Satan Duck song as she waited for the elevator she'd been calling for the past few minutes. "Satan Duck?" she questioned out loud. When no one commented on comment, she continued, "Where do these bands come up with these names? They're just lucky they kick ass." 

A sudden noise distracted her. Leaning close to the outer doors of the elevator, she thought she could hear some unearthly screeching that could only indicate serious mechanical failure. It was official – she was going to have to unbuckle the boots and take the stairs. She heaved a sigh and dragged her feet back to the lab.

She was halfway down her right calf when the elevator dinged. A moment later Ziva strolled into the lab, followed by a yawning Tony. Ziva smoothed a few strands of hair against her head as she parked herself in front of the central workstation. "Hello, Abby."

"Hey guys." Abby did her best to ignore the fact that Tony had wrapped his arms around Ziva's waist and buried his face in her hair. She was happy to note that Ziva was trying to push him away, at least. She attempted some small talk as she began the arduous task of rebuckling her boots. "Did you take the elevator? Because I waited for, like, five minutes and then it made this horrible noise so I gave up."

"Horrible noise, you say? Hmmm…" Tony's hum degenerated into giggling. "Can't say I noticed a horrible noise. Maybe…" He let out a loud 'oomph' and backed up a few steps as Ziva elbowed him. "Yeah, didn't notice anything wrong with the elevator."

"Good, because stairs do not agree with these boots and you'd be getting a lot of calls to come down to the lab."

"Why were you coming up, Abby?" Ziva asked.

"Oh! I got the DNA results on the stuff you found under the dead guy's fingernails. Female."

"That's all?"

"What dead guy?"

Abby answered Tony's question, the more interesting of the two, "Nicolas Scott? The Marine Ducky's chatting with in autopsy?"

"Oh…right. Crime scene." Tony had gone back to his position behind Ziva, holding her. "So?"

"So is it still red?"

His head shot up. "What? No!"

"It isn't at its most impressive at the moment, anyway," Ziva said with a smile, patting his cheek.

Abby looked at them both carefully, her long wait for the elevator beginning to make sense. "Just so we're clear, it would be really dumb to blackmail a colleague slash assassin and a regular colleague who may have been having sex in the elevator, right?"

"Really dumb," Ziva replied, never cracking a smile. Tony dropped his face again.

Abby pursed her lips. "Well, can I at least use it to freak out McGee?"


	18. Chapter 18

Ziva groaned as she hauled yet another box, the last one from the trunk of the borrowed car, up the front steps of the apartment building she and Tony were nearly moved into. McGee and several random friends of Tony's had helped them with the larger items, but she hadn't felt right asking them to stay late to help with the incidentals of the kitchen, linens and clothing. The heavy box of pots and pans was taking her as close to regretting that decision as she was going to get; McGee had had plans and Tony had some very exasperating friends.

She propped the box between the wall and her hip when she got into the elevator, knowing she was saving herself the trouble of having to pick it up when the short ride to the tenth floor was over. Her back had started feeling sore in the past hour or so. She closed her eyes and considered everything that still had to be done. Tony had had the smart idea to move and set up the bed first, though she suspected his plans hadn't included collapsing unconsciously into it at the end of the day as she was planning to do. After a few more trips to his old apartment… Sighing heavily, she took on the full weight of her box again as she arrived at the top floor of the building.

She dug her fingers into the cardboard as she toted her load into the living room a few moments later and saw Tony by the TV, fiddling with the wires in spite of the fact that the cable wouldn't be hooked up for several days. She calmly set the box in the hall before snatching the remote from his hand as he crouched in front of the entertainment center. He looked up at her innocently. "What?"

"What are you doing sitting there?"

"I'm not sitting; I'm setting up the centerpiece of the living room!" He recaptured the remote and pressed a button as he sat on the couch. "Who needs cable when your DVD player works? The movies are in those boxes," he waved his arm at a stack of large boxes, "but the surround sound isn't hooked up, so I'm gonna recommend something without too many car chases or explosions."

"We do not have time for this." She glanced around the living room, a strange mix of meticulously arranged furniture and haphazard piles of boxes. As annoying as Tony's friends had been, at least they'd followed her directions; even the piano was barely out of tune. That reminder of one more little thing that needed to be addressed prompted her to head for the door. "Come on."

"We deserve a break!" He shoved a pile of something that sounded suspiciously breakable to the floor, clearing a space on the couch. "Join me!"

"We still have too much to do! There are at least three more loads at our old apartment and I am not moving it all on my own."

"You won't have to. We'll take a break and get back to work tomorrow."

She crossed her arms over her chest. "If we'd just rented a moving truck – like I wanted – instead of relying on your friend Dave's pickup and a car we probably shouldn't have borrowed from work, we could be done by now."

"Hey!" He bounced off the sofa and wrapped his arms around her. "We've got all the furniture. We got your stuff that was still left at Gibbs' house. I saw you bring in a bunch of guns. Relax. Sit down. I'll give you a back rub."

"I don't think so."

"You're saying _no_? To a back rub?"

"Tony, in your mind if you give me a back rub, I'll give you a blow job."

His eyes glazed for a moment as he led her to the sofa, but he was back to normal after a hearty blink, plopping back into his seat. "I promise I'll do all the touching. Just sit." She made a noise of frustration, but finally surrendered to his smile and sank into the couch, closing her eyes. "Uh, Ziva?"

"Hm?"

"Back rub?"

"After we're done."

"Done with…"

She pushed his hand out of her lap as she opened her eyes and clearly stated, "Moving."

"But we've got a whole new apartment to break in." His eyes were directed upward to the open loft bedroom. "Traditional or start here and work our way up?"

"No. Wait until later tonight when we've finished." She ignored his pout and stood. "Come on." When he didn't get up, she jingled the keys. "You can drive."

"Nice try, but I can drive the Charger anytime." He finally followed as she wove her way between the boxes piled in the living room and hall on the way to the door. "Do we have to?"

"Yes." She collided with the wall and nearly lost her balance as he pushed past her to block the door.

"Why?"

"Because…" Relying on her old standby, she got in his face and stared threateningly. Although she respected that it didn't really work on him anymore, she still found it frustrating. She resorted to talking. "Don't you think it would be better if we just got everything here today so we'll have tomorrow to relax and do some unpacking?"

"And what's wrong with relaxing now and moving a few more boxes tomorrow? It's not like Palmer's mom is shoving him out the door at midnight! I don't think he was planning to move until next weekend anyway."

"It would still be nice if we didn't have to worry about…" Ziva felt a twinge in her lower back as she attempted to pull Tony out of her way bodily. "Damn it!"

"Are you…" He didn't finish the thought as a knock sounded on the door. With a guilty blush, he grinned. "Dinner's here."

She rolled her eyes. "Let me guess…"

He opened the door for a man in a red windbreaker bearing a flat white box who peered curiously into the apartment for a moment. "You don't live here."

"Now we do. Get used to it. Oh, and thanks." Tony dropped a bill and some change into the familiar deliveryman's hand and accepted the pizza box before slamming the door. "We're still in the delivery area for Il Fornello's. Great, huh?"

It was now her turn to block his path. "This is why you didn't want to leave? You could have just told me you ordered a pizza."

"Surprise!" He elbowed past her, holding the pizza box in one hand far over her head. "Don't worry, I got half meat, half vegetable crap."

"Sounds appetizing."

"Could I further surprise you with a beer? Because I've got that taken care of too."

"Tony…" she whined, more angry at herself that she was allowing the sudden rumble in her stomach to dictate her decision. "Fine. But no movie. We'll eat and then we'll get back to work."

"I think you're confusing 'movie' and 'moving.' It's past nine and we're about to start drinking, so no more moving tonight. Give it up." He dropped the pizza on the island in the bright kitchen, next to a large basket of fruit she hadn't seen before.

As he hunted through a box on the floor, she inspected the basket. "Where did this come from?"

"It got delivered today. I think you and McGee we're on box-duty." He popped out of his crouch. "I found some paper plates and paper towels. Welcome to the glamorous life."

She wasn't distracted. "Delivered by who?"

"I dunno, some guy in a blue jacket."

"Who is it from?"

Two bottles clinked together in Tony's hand as he grabbed them from the refrigerator. "Any idea where the bottle opener is? Or do you just wanna do your little trick where you chip the countertops but free the suds?"

She took the beers from him and set them on the counter beside the pizza and paper plates. "Who sent the fruit basket?"

He shifted from one foot to the other. "The card says it's from my father, but don't get too excited – it's addressed to both of us and uses the word 'dear' as a greeting. I'm pretty sure his secretary sent it." As an afterthought he added, "She signs my birthday cards, too."

Ziva read the innocuous message congratulating them on their new apartment. "I thought Genevieve was his secretary."

"His eye-candy secretary. Martha is his real secretary. Can we eat now?"

"Tony…"

"I don't want to talk about it."

She nodded and opened the pizza box, removing a slice from the vegetable side and noting that he'd gotten extra mushrooms for her. Using her knife rather than the edge of the granite countertop, she pried the lids off the two beers. "So do you have a movie in mind?"

"You just don't give up, do you?" He slapped a piece of pizza on his plate, causing it to flop in his hand, as she stood rooted on her spot, wondering what in the hell he was talking about. He continued, "Just because he may have reached out to us doesn't mean that I should call him and thank him and, and, and…reopen the dialogue between us."

"I never said…"

He went on as if she hadn't spoken, "It's not like a fruit basket is an apology for all the horrible things he said about us, about you especially. I'm not just going to pretend that dinner never happened."

"It technically didn't," Ziva muttered, trailing Tony back to the couch.

"If he wants to talk, he can call. He's got our number, which he clearly knows. Oh, and he better not think he doesn't have to apologize for that message he left, because that was just so…" He trailed off and took a large bite of his piece of pizza, chewing enthusiastically, but not swallowing before taking another bite. "Myah."

She waited for him to continue, but his mouth was too full. "Why don't you call this Martha and ask?"

"Uh?" A semi-masticated red and brown chunk was briefly visible.

"The secretary, yes?" Ziva glanced at her own piece of pizza, but finished her thought before taking a bite. "You could call her and ask about the fruit."

His Adam's apple bobbed as he made the effort to swallow his mouthful. "See my rye." He swallowed again and reiterated, "She might lie."

"Will she let you speak to your father if it's a lie?"

"Um…no? But I don't want to talk to him. The insults, the…the being an asshole? Remember?"

She patted his cheek. "You're the one who wants to know. I learned my lesson about pushing this."

"Yeah, well…good." He took another bite, shoving most of the crust into his mouth. "Uhshoo mah?"

"Either we're watching a foreign film or you need to hold off until you've chewed and swallowed."

He obediently worked his jaw and throat until the task had been accomplished. "Would you mind?"

"I…" She squeezed her eyes shut as she thought about the question. Tony's father was… "He's still your father no matter what he's done or said," she blurted out.

"Maybe." Tony stood and went back to the kitchen, returning with two pieces of pizza for himself and one that he dropped on her plate. "Maybe I'll try calling Martha first."

She leaned forward and kissed him gently. "I just don't want you to get hurt, okay?"

"You should talk."

"I don't care what he thinks of me, just what he does to you."

Tony gave her a genuine smile. "Thanks. I was actually trying to change the subject, though. You winced when you kissed me. Is it because I taste like pork products?"

"I told you, my back hurts."

"That's right. I owe you a massage."

"Maybe I'll just take advantage of our new tub a little later. Are you going to put a movie on, or are we just going to stare at this blue screen all night?"

He grinned, holding his crust between his teeth as he jumped off the sofa and grabbed a DVD case from an open box. "So we're not making three more trips to our old place tonight?"

"Put the movie on."

He complied, still grinning with his pizza crust sticking out of his mouth like a crooked cigar. "Ehh-xcellent."

"I told you, my back needs the rest. I don't even know if I'm going to feel like getting up for a run tomorrow."

"What about tonight?"

"Why would I run tonight?"

He sat beside her again, closer than he had been before. "I wasn't talking about running."

"Talk to me after my bath."


	19. Chapter 19

Tony poked his head into the bathroom to check on Ziva. She'd been in the tub for over twenty minutes and he was afraid to put anything else away, only to find out later he'd put it in the wrong spot. They had managed to finish moving earlier that morning and spent the rest of their Sunday arranging the new apartment. He had taken care of hooking up the surround sound and stereo, alphabetizing all the DVDs and CDs, and making sure the living room furniture had been set up to ideally compliment the entertainment center, though also in such a way as to aid the cable man when he came on Tuesday to connect their service.

While he had been so exceptionally occupied in the living room, she had been flitting up and down the stairs, distracting him with her swaying hips. She'd also apparently unpacked and put away all their clothes and squared away the entire kitchen. Then she'd gotten ticked off when he'd suggested they hit the nice looking pub down the street for a late lunch, just in time for the kickoff of the Redskins' game, coincidentally enough. He had been left to puzzle out why there were some dishtowels in one drawer and other dishtowels in another, yet neither drawer had been close to full. Was there some kind of hierarchy of dishtowels of which he was unaware? He suspected it had something to do with the number of plastic…floppy scraper…things in the drawer above the dishtowels. The theme from 'Unsolved Mysteries' ran through his head and he checked over his shoulder to make sure Robert Stack wasn't about to start narrating.

The steam was thick in the large master bath, adding to the eeriness of the moment. As he looked around, he realized that he hadn't really appreciated the size of the bright white room. There was a soft drone and bubbling noises coming from the spa tub where Ziva lay with her eyes closed. He grinned, all horror movie foreboding forgotten. He had covered half the distance to her on tiptoe when she said, "Don't even think about it."

He stopped in his tracks, wishing he'd thought to take his shoes off. "What? I was just coming in to see how you're doing."

She opened her eyes and turned, crossing her arms over the rim of the tub and resting her chin on them. "Then why were you sneaking around?"

"Sneaking?" He licked his lips as he continued forward until he was close enough to see her body through the rippling water. "That's insulting." He knelt on the bathmat, toeing off his sneakers, and pushed a damp tendril of hair that had slipped out of the bun on the top of her head behind her ear. His finger continued down her neck, tracing a line to the surface of the water. "Do you honestly think that I don't know it's impossible to sneak up on my favorite nude assassin?"

She stretched her neck forward. "As long as you know…" As the kiss deepened, he dipped his hand into the water, running it down her stomach. She pulled her head back. "Tony, you'll get your shirt wet."

"So I'll put on a new one." Her thighs clamped his hand. "Not like I can escape." He kissed her again as he worked his fingers and felt the vibration in his own mouth as she moaned. He chuckled through the kiss, breaking it long enough to say, "Damn me and my sneaking."

"Maybe we will go to that pub later after all." She frowned a moment later. "No, no, no. I'm not going anywhere with you if you stop."

"So I could still go?" She withdrew to the opposite side of the tub and pushed his hand away in the time it took him to realize the joke was not a good one. "Hey, I was kidding."

"I don't care if you want to watch football, Tony, just don't…what the hell are you doing?"

Water sloshed over the edge of the tub as he dropped in, fully clothed. He didn't waste any time addressing her protests or laughter, concentrating on finding a comfortable position that didn't also involve his head being submerged. He eventually settled his butt on the bottom of the tub and began striving to get Ziva into his lap. When she was perfectly positioned, he realized the difficulty in his situation. "I should have thought this through a little better."

"We'll improvise," she said, peeling his T-shirt off his torso; it slapped against the tile floor as she tossed it across the room. The pants were a little tougher, but she managed. "Good thing you aren't wearing boxers."

"You should be shocked I'm even wearing pants." He worked the sodden jeans off his ankles, leaving them at the end of the tub so he could pull his knees up and give Ziva something to balance against as she repositioned herself after his clumsy undressing. The water swirled around them.

Her bent knees were digging into him, but he was past the point of caring. She frowned. "This is really awkward."

"Then why are you waiting? Let's just go for it." Not too long afterward, his head lolled against the rim of the tub. "Two rooms down…uh, a few more to go?"

"Pace yourself; our lease is for two years."

"Not like there's a limit." He smiled blissfully as she stood, water running off her skin in coursing rivulets. She complained about the water on the floor as she stepped out of the tub and wrapped a towel around herself, but he couldn't have cared less.

He remained in his placid state until she said, "I'm hungry. That pub is starting to sound better and better."

"Oooh." He checked his watch but said nothing about the potential to get there in time for the second half of the game. "Yeah, hungry." He stood and shivered as the air hit his dripping body. "Towel?" He nearly dropped the one she tossed him in the tub as he climbed out. "Thanks. How do you turn off the swirlies?"

"What? Oh!" She turned too quickly from hanging his T-shirt in the shower stall and lost her towel. "Stop looking at me like that."

His tongue poked out at the corner of his lips. "Like I like the way you look?"

"Like you're planning to carry me to bed." She regarded him seriously as she rewrapped the towel around her body. "Do you think we've been having too much sex lately?"

"Hell no. If anything, we should be having more." He finished wiping the water from his body and let his towel fall to the floor. "Like you can resist this."

"This has nothing to do with your…" she paused as he watched her eyes move up his body, "attractiveness."

"That's the word you're going with? How about mind-boggling sexiness? Raw masculinity?" She shook her head and ducked into the bedroom. He followed, still naked and now nervous, his confidence shrinking as he left the warmth of the steamy bathroom behind. "Are you trying to say you think we're having too much sex?" He grabbed a pair of pants off the floor and pulled them on hurriedly. "You're not telling me you're getting bored with it, are you?"

"No." She calmly began dressing as he flopped on the bed. What the hell was going on? When had the mystery changed from dishtowels to something wrong with the sex? He watched from the corner of his eye as she walked to the closet in jeans and a bra, running his hand down his stomach to reassure himself that even if he wasn't quite as fit as she was, he still had the goods. He blinked as he remembered she hadn't cited attractiveness as the problem. Or boredom. He settled his hand on her lower back as she sat down beside him on the bed. "Are you going to finish getting dressed? Didn't you wear those yesterday?"

"Huh?" He did a quick check and found that he was, in fact, wearing only one article of clothing. "Yeah, but that was the only day I'd worn them, so they're fine."

A shirt suddenly covered his head. "At least that's clean. Put it on. I'm hungry."

The camouflage made him bold. "Why do you think there's a problem?"

"We spent the entire day carrying heavy objects yesterday. How were you not sweaty?"

His eyelashes felt funny, scraping against the fabric of his shirt. "What? Oh, I wasn't talking about my pants. I meant…is there something wrong with the sex that's making you think we should cut back?"

"Tony, the sex is good, I…"

"Just good?" he interrupted.

"Fine, great. I just want to make sure that…will you take that off your face?" He felt the mattress shift as she reached over the remove the shirt. He turned his head to see her kneeling beside him, looking him in the eye when she continued, "I just wanted to be sure that we aren't getting too obsessed with it."

"Ziva, our relationship has survived your super secret undercover mission and multiple serious injuries, all of which really put a damper on our sex life. I think we're okay."

"I know." She smiled and pecked his lips.

"Then why the mini freak out?"

"I would hardly call that freaking out." She stood and walked to the mirror, where she began fussing with her hair. "McGee gave me his latest chapters yesterday and I was reading them when I let you sleep in this morning."

"You got me up at seven!"

"Which is late."

"Not on Sunday!"

"Which is why I didn't go for a long run." She yanked the brush through her hair a final time; the mirror reflected her hard stare to him.

He sat up and began pulling on his shirt. "Yeah, but…y'know, I'm hungry too." As he was putting on his shoes, he asked, "What exactly did McGatsby write about us?"

"Tommy and Lisa," she corrected, "have a long, long conversation while she is in the hospital about how their relationship isn't based on real feelings, but just on sex."

"Think it's a real chapter?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you know I stopped after the part where you…I mean, Lisa got shot in the shipping container. Do you think this is really going in the book, or is it just something he wrote after Abby told him about Tony in the elevator with the hot Israeli." He waited a moment for her to get his joke before adding, "You count as a weapon."

"I hadn't considered that. Perhaps McGee was attempting to send us a message."

Tony jogged down the stairs, following his instincts toward less dangerous subjects. And food. "Yeah, because we're going to listen to the vestal virgin when we could be having bathtub sex."

"I hope you enjoyed it, because I don't think we're doing it again."

He turned with alarm to watch her coming downstairs. "In the bathtub or in general?"

"In the bathtub, Tony. Although the way my back feels at the moment…shit, I forgot to turn off the tub." She ran back up the stairs, giving him a moment to push a few dishtowels out of sight as he walked past the kitchen.

A folder he hadn't noticed on the counter before distracted him for a few moments. When she returned, he read, "'Tommy stared at his strong hands folded in his lap, wishing he could use them to embrace Lisa in her hospital bed, but afraid that he would hurt her if he even touched her. Why did he have to be touching her all the time? Didn't he love her enough to get past the purely physical? The fact that his hand was creeping up the sheets to take hers didn't seem like a good sign.' What the…how does holding your hand while you're in the hospital make me some kind of…sex fiend who doesn't want anything but sex?"

"Lisa doesn't come off much better. Did you read the part where she's begging the doctor to tell her she doesn't have to wait to sleep with Tommy? It's so…ow." She twitched, moving a hand to her lower back.

"I know a great chiro. Maybe we can get you in tomorrow." He rubbed gently, conscious to keep his hands on her lower back and not…lower. "Is that why you're letting the Elf Lord's assessment of our sex life get to you? Because your back hurts? You could have told me no."

"I wanted to."

The half-smile she gave him over her shoulder was almost enough to make him forget the rumble in his stomach. "Too much sex, my ass."

"One thing at a time," she said, walking out the door before he could reply.


	20. Chapter 20

Resting her hands on her lower back, Ziva leaned forward and rotated her upper body in a slow circle, feeling for any evidence, however slight, of the stabbing pains that had accompanied such movements for the past day and two nights. She was pleased to find only the lingering muscle soreness the chiropractor had told her about in the moments before relieving her discomfort with a crack that she'd briefly feared had done more harm than good. There was no arguing with results, though, especially when she was so low on sick leave.

She moved to the side of her desk before she leaned over and grabbed her ankles, enjoying the feel of the stretch through the back of her legs. Tony piped up from across the aisle, "Didn't Pete tell you to take it easy?"

Holding her stretch, she craned her neck to look up at him. "Dr. Brown said not to run or lift anything for the next few days."

"I should have asked him to tell you no contortions or acrobatics either."

"I fail to see how a simple stretch will do any harm."

He leaned back in his chair, propping his feet up on the desk. "Turn around and try that stretch again. I'll take a good look and…"

She stood up just as Gibbs came around the partition. "Stare at her ass at home, DiNozzo."

"Sorry, boss." Tony rubbed the back of his head as he shot her an accusing look. "Don't worry that without me, she wouldn't even be here today."

"She let you drive?" Gibbs asked, unimpressed.

Ziva still noted his passing concerned glance and provided, "I hurt my back when we were moving this weekend and Tony took me to the chiropractor this morning."

"You could be a little more impressed, y'know." His eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint as he approached her. "New patient gets an appointment first thing Monday morning?"

"With a former teammate of yours from college," she added.

"Hey, he was O-line and I was a DB. It wasn't like we knew each other that well."

She bypassed the bait to ask what the abbreviations meant, saying, "You knew him well enough for him to be shocked you were engaged."

"Stop. Now."

She hadn't realized that they'd come together, nose to nose in the middle of the bullpen until Gibbs spoke up. Immediately retreating to her desk, she turned her attention to the open file on her blotter. Her eyes remained on the computer screen for the next hour until Gibbs left, presumably on his way to get a fresh cup of coffee. Tony was, predictably, sitting on the edge of her desk seconds after the elevator doors closed. "What?"

He leaned close and whispered, "How 'bout an elevator break?"

"Yes, you can take McGee."

"C'mon, Ziva." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Take me where?" McGee asked.

She lowered her voice, "We're not having sex in the elevator, Tony."

"Not even a quickie?"

"Where are you taking me?" McGee asked again, the worry over their whispered conversation evident in his tone.

"Nowhere, Probie. Don't worry about it." Tony pressed his lips to her ear, whispering, "You can prove to me how much better your back feels."

"No elevator sex," she said loudly and clearly, drawing McGee's alarmed attention even closer. "Take care of it on your own."

"But you already told me I could take McGee!" Tony protested, pouting as he threw an arm around McGee's shoulders. "Up for some experimenting, Elf Lord?"

McGee immediately fought off Tony's embrace, darting back to the safety of his desk and sputtering rejections.

Ziva smiled in spite of herself as Tony rolled his eyes and sank back onto her desk. "Relax, Probie. I'm out of your league. And I think you need to work on your confidence. We know you like boobs, at the very least. I remember when we had those topless photos of Ziva…"

A recent moment of weakness with a digital camera flashed through her mind. She stood up and grabbed his hair, digging his fingers into his scalp as she hissed, "You promised me you wouldn't let anyone…"

"I didn't!" he squeaked, wincing. "I was talking about the CIA surveillance photos from when you were in Europe."

She took a moment to decide that he was telling the truth. "Hmph."

When she released his head, he shot an harsh glance at McGee. "He was the one who studied your chest well enough to put your mole in his book."

"I told you, I'm changing a lot of the Tommy and Lisa stuff," McGee said. "My editor thought it was starting to distract from the main plot."

"Oh, you mean like the pages and pages where they debate whether their relationship is just about sex?"

"In all fairness," Ziva calmly said, resting her hand on his thigh, "you did just ask me to have sex with you in the elevator at work."

"Yeah, but you said no." His smile was enough to make her reconsider for a moment.

"And while the characters are based on you, they aren't exactly like you," McGee added, turning his eyes away when they looked at him.

"We've heard your standard disclaimer, McLiar. We're not suddenly gonna start believing it if you say it enough times."

Bored with teasing McGee, Ziva squeezed where her hand was still placed. "Hey, speaking of lies…are you going to call your father's secretary and ask her about the fruit basket?"

"That's right, I should give Martha a call." He picked up her phone and dialed.

Surprised by his lack of argument, she could only ask, "You know the number?"

"It's my dad's office; he hasn't changed the number in the past…Martha? Yeah, it's me!" He winked at Ziva and continued, "Thanks for the fruit basket. Yeah, we guessed it was you. Really well. She's right here, actually. Want to say hi?" He was suddenly thrusting the phone into her face. "Martha."

"Uh-huh." She accepted the receiver and tentatively said, "Hello?"

"Oh! How nice to finally talk to you!" a woman with a slight New York accent said. "I've been hoping we'd get a chance to talk. Genevieve hated you, so I knew you had to be all right."

"Yes, Genevieve was…"

"Dumped! Oh, I didn't mention it to Tony, but the wedding is off! Good riddance, I say. Did you really pull a knife on her?"

"Yes, well…"

"Trust me, I've wanted to do a lot worse. Up until a few days ago she would just sit in this office all day not lifting a finger or even pretending that she was a secretary. Awful woman. But I didn't want to talk to you about her. I wanted to talk to you about Tony. He's a good boy and he always has been, and you must be pretty special if he's settling down with you." Her voice suddenly became low and scratchy as she said, "But I swear, if you break his heart…I may be an old lady but I know people."

Ziva grinned at the threat, trying not to laugh as she replied, "I believe my father had a similar discussion with Tony."

"Well, I just thought that since his isn't going to…I remember when Tony was just a little boy, coming by the office and just wanting some of his father's attention and…" She sniffed loudly. "You just be good to him. Can you put him back on?"

"Here he is." She handed the phone back to him without saying goodbye. The conversation continued for a few minutes, but was cut short when Gibbs returned with his coffee. Topics remained strictly professional for the rest of the day, with the notable exception of Tony attempting to share more details that Martha had told him about Genevieve and receiving a headslap for his trouble.

In the parking lot, walking to the car just before sunset, Ziva squealed as Tony seized her from behind and swung her around. When he put her down, she turned pointed her finger in his face. "If you try that again, I will fling you so far across the parking lot…"

"I just won't try it in the lot next time." His smile diffused her anger and his hands rested on her hips. "The basket was his idea."

It took her a moment to realize what he was talking about. "Your father?"

"Yup. He asked Martha not to tell me, and he told her not to put me through if I asked to talk to him…I don't know if I'm ready to talk to him anyway…but it's good to know I could, I guess."

"Perhaps by the spring?"

"We'll talk about it. Later." His lips were warm and soft against hers.

McGee's voice interrupted them, "I wait for the next elevator and I still can't get away from you two."

"Put it in your next book," Ziva said, turning her attention back to Tony. "Want to pick this up at home?"

"In a minute. We can make McGee uncomfortable for at least another minute or so before he drives away."

The End

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A/n: Thanks to all who read and reviewed! Casefile sequel in the works. 


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